


Haute

by irlmagicalgirl



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, M/M, Stripper Jean, Sugar Daddy!Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlmagicalgirl/pseuds/irlmagicalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt has everything - a multimillion dollar fashion empire, a home in the prestigious Beverly Hills, connections, and fame. Everything, that is, except for a real social or romantic life. When he needs an escort to New York Fashion Week, where the fashion and social elite are expecting him to be at his best, he has no choice but to hire someone, a la Pretty Woman. Enter Jean "Cherrybomb" Kirschtein, who might turn out to be more than Marco is bargaining for.</p><p>A Sugar Daddy/Stripper/Fashion AU, based on the art by thisismouseface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skitzo

           

haute  
ōt  
adjective  
1.  
high-class or high-toned; fancy: an haute restaurant that attracts a monied crowd.  
2.  
high; elevated; upper.

haute cou·ture  
ˌōt ˌko͞oˈto͝or/  
noun  
1.  
the designing and making of high-quality fashionable clothes by leading fashion houses, esp. to order.

* * *

 

 I adjusted my Armani tie as I sidestepped a hamburger wrapper tumbling down the dirty sidewalk. In hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't have worn such a nice suit at this time of night and in this part of downtown. Then again, everything I owned was designer down to the silk pajamas I slept in, so if I was going to get mugged, I was going to be looking good (and making some muggers rich) no matter what. All they would have to do was strip me and sell my clothes and they'd be made for at least a week.

            But that didn't happen. After all, I was just outside Hollywood. It was no Beverly Hills, but amongst the tourists and the crazies, men walked around in designer suits here, too. At eleven at night. Maybe. It's not like we didn't have homeless folks too, in our corner of LA. It's just...they could speak in coherent sentences usually.

            Luckily, the tapping of my Gucci heels was quickly drowned out by the vibrating bass coming from my destination - Skitzo. And, thinking back again, maybe the Italian suit _was_ a good choice. Knowing the type and class of people normally coming in and out of a place like Skitzo, it was good to show everyone that I meant business.

            When I say "a place like Skitzo," I don't just mean a strip club. I mean a strip club in this part of LA that I have to walk down a dirty, barely lit street at almost midnight to reach.  The strip club point itself isn't the issue. Were I going to Suede, the best gay strip club back in my part of the city, my biggest worry would have been if I looked rich enough to get in - not if I looked so rich that I couldn't even make it to the door in one piece.

            I know what you're thinking -  _But Marco, if you're so rich and well-dressed, why don't you just go to Suede tonight, like every other time?_

            Well, it's _because_ I'm so rich and well-dressed that I can't go to Suede tonight. Not this time. I'm on a mission. A...secret mission. And Suede is _anything_ but secret. They tell you it is and make it all exclusive, but it's filled with rich socialites, and if they don't gossip, the entertainment will. I can't have that this time.

            I approached Skitzo, and if the name wasn't enough to tell me the difference between it and Suede, the pulsing aura radiating off and out of it was. I had to flash an ID to the bouncer at the door - more policy than anything, I guessed. I'm 26, almost 27, and I have one of those faces that could be 17 or 30, but I don't know anyone under 21 who could have (or would have) been dressed as I was. The bouncer wrinkled his eyebrows, probably checking three times to see if he was reading my name right. Once he was sure that it was really Marco Bodt, his eyes got wide and he handed back my ID quickly and in the most polite manner I could have imagined, as if the last thing he wanted was to offend me in anyway.

            "Here you are, Mr. Bodt! Go right in, enjoy yourself!" he said with a wink. Not a sleazy one. Somehow, I could tell this guy wasn't going to talk about my appearance here. "By the way, love the new shirt collection out this month. I'd snag them all if I could!"

            I smirked back at him, appreciating that he knew I had a new line of men's dress shirts out this season, and also appreciating that he was interested enough that he knew to connect my name to them. It's simple enough, I guess, with my brand name being the same as my actual name, like Tommy Hilfiger, or Michael Kors. Still, it was pleasantly surprising that the man took note that the dress shirts he liked were from the Marco Bodt Spring Menswear Collection, and not just nice new shirts. Then again, he was a gay man who, for being a bouncer, was quite metro looking as well. Maybe it wasn't as surprising as I thought.

            I turned and entered the club, and instantly I was overwhelmed. It had an actual _club_ feel. Suede was more like a fancy lounge with fine dining that just happened to feature some naked men. Skitzo, on the other hand, could have easily doubled as a rave venue.

            I could feel my heart beating nearly in sync with the steadily pounding music. If there were words to it, I could not pick them out. Everything was bathed in a rainbow of lights, and a swirling sort of fog was drifting through the air, only visible when the light shone through it. Clusters of men were up dancing with each other, and others had private tables where strippers provided them with personal shows. The main stage was vacated, but according to the flyer I had ripped off a street light, headline shows started every half hour to forty-five minutes. I checked my watch - 11:20. Shrugging, I took a seat at an empty table close to the front and center of the stage. No one was sitting there as the show had not yet started, but I saw no harm in getting a seat early. After all, if anyone was going to be worth my time here, it was going to be one of the headliners.

            A scantily clad, but fairly muscular man approached my table. He had cat ears on his head, as well as a long tail hanging from his black briefs, and a black choker. It was then that I noticed that all the servers had on animal accessories - from where I was sitting, I spotted a bunny and a dog as well.

            "May I offer you something to drink, sir?" my cat-server asked me. He had bright green irises, and I made a mental note that, if I couldn't find anyone better, I might have to extend my offer to him instead. He was pretty easy on the eyes.

            Were I at Suede, I wouldn't have even been asked. My regular bottle of wine would have been brought to my table the moment I was seen walking through the door. But this was not Suede and somehow I knew that this place wouldn't even have my wine available. I shrugged a shoulder. "Your best Scotch, please," I requested. I held off on winking, or any other creepy trope frequenters of this place might be accustomed to. Like I said, I had to let them know I was high-class. I meant business. Cat-boy nodded as he jotted down my order on the notepad that had previously been tucked in edge of his briefs.

            "Be right back with that," he assured me, and turned back towards the bar. I watched his tail swing and his hips swayed. I wasn't going to act like too much of a sleaze ball, but there was nothing wrong with getting an eyeful, right?

            I could see more and more men getting off the dance floor and taking their seats. The music was lowering to a gentle thrum and the lights got softer, but entertainers on the side tables were still working it. 11:25. My drink was going to get to my table just in time for the main show. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping the headliner was good. I had a lot of reputation riding on this guy.

            Cat-boy returned with my scotch and lingered casually beside my chair. "Can I offer you anything else, sir?" he asked. I declined, but he didn't leave.

            "I was told to be at your side if you need anything," he let me know. So the bouncer _did_ talk. Somebody had told somebody to make me a satisfied customer. I wasn't complaining. Made my time easier. Being a famous fashion designer _could_ be inconvenient while walking down a sketchy street in Los Angeles, but...it had it's perks. "You can call me Roger," he told me.

            "Thank you, Roger," I replied to my cat-boy. "I'll let you know if I need anything else." I took a swig of the scotch and was pleasantly surprised at the quality.

            "You've never been to Skitzo, have you, Mr. Bodt?" Right. So they definitely knew who I was.

            "I haven't. I usually go to Suede."

            Luckily for me, Roger didn't question my sudden change in venues. "Then you're in for a treat. Tonight's show is fantastic. You won't be disappointed."

            So that was promising. Before I could inquire further, however, 11:30 rolled around. Everyone was now seated, except for the servers, and all the lights save for the ones pointed at the stage went down. A deep voice rumbled over an unseen loudspeaker.

            "Gentlemen - the moment you've been waiting for all night. Please turn your attention to the main stage for our very own... _Cherrybomb!_ "

            I smirked at the name and the smirk grew into a full on grin when the music crept back on and I picked up the familiar tune. It seemed a little cliché for a stripper song, but at the same time, I couldn't think of a much better choice. I imagine that Roger took my smirk and chuckle for chagrin, because he nudged me and mouthed something out - _trust me._

            _Na na na na na, come on. Na na na, come on, come on, come on._

The "Cherrybomb" emerged from behind the black velvet curtain at the back of the stage. I could tell he was barefoot, wearing black pants and a black buttoned up vest, but the bright glare from the lights made his face and hair hard to take in.

            He took a few steps to the music with an undeniable swagger to the front of stage where I could better see him. I realized that he wore a black tie under the vest as well, but no shirt.

            And he was gorgeous. His hair was cut in that edgy undercut style, and from the tone in his arms alone, I could tell that his body was fantastic. I mean, he pole danced for a living, so it would be. But it was still something nice to note. The way the light hit his eyes made them look like liquid amber and gave him an even more devilish look. I couldn't spot any tattoos, but between his two ears, he had about five visible piercings. I mentally apologized to Roger. So far, this guy had him beat.

            _Love is great, love is fine. Out of box, out of line. The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more_.

            He smoothly curved his body back, perfectly in time to the music, and lowered himself to his knees. With his legs tucked beneath him and his head thrown back, he started to unbutton the vest. A few whistles were thrown out from the crowd, and my grin returned involuntarily to my lips. Gyrating slightly, he rose back up, hips first, and threw the vest off entirely at the start of the chorus.

            _'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it, sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it, sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me._

            Now that he was closer, I realized his lip was pierced as well. The ring  was so thin and subtle that I hadn't noticed until the light glinted off it off of it, and he bit at it seductively. Now that the vest was off, I could also see that there was a little black rose tattooed exactly where his right hip bone started to plunge past the seam of his pants. He twirled slowly in the direction of the pole center stage, jumped slightly and grabbed it with both hands. Continuing to hold himself up with his right hand, he skillfully removed his tie with his left in two swift movements. He held it in his mouth as twirled himself down the length of the pole, tossing his head back.

            _I love the feeling you bring to me, oh you turn me on. It's exactly what I've been yearning for, give it to me strong._

            Reaching the bottom of the pole, he touched down with knees, and slid himself away from it. He got on all floors and rolled his hips in a humping motion as crumpled dollar bills were thrown up on stage. Not missing a beat in the music, he continued to roll as he stuffed the bills in the waistline of his pants. He reached the very edge of the stage and scanned the audience. Meeting my eyes, as I was front and center, he gave me a wink, and a raised my glass of scotch to him in a salute. Yeah. He was a winner.

            _S, S, S, S, and M, M. S, S, S, S, and M, M._

            "Told you so," Roger whispered in my ear from behind me. I had almost forgotten about Cat-Boy. I felt bad, honestly, but I had not expected such a fantastic headliner.

            The Cherrybomb finished the song with copious amounts of hip rolling (which was great, since he was so good at it). He returned to the pole now and again, and with the vest off completely, I was able to appreciate the way his muscles flexed with each movement he made. It was obvious that he chose moves that would force his abs to clench and the veins in his forearms to become more defined. I was fine with that. I have a thing for forearms. Still, throughout the song, he never removed the pants, which told me that, in time, he would be returning for second song and would take care of them then.

            Men got up from their seats and shuffled around, some leaving, having been satisfied with that show alone. Others rose to get drink refills. I realized that I must have been the one and only VIP there that night, if I could call myself that, because I was the only one with a consistently hovering animal server.

            "Do you desire anything else before the next show, Mr. Bodt?" mine asked me, right on queue. The scotch in my hand was only half finished, but I was glad he asked anyway.

            "Yes, actually. Could you please go ask the performer if I could get a private lap dance?" I knew the question wouldn't faze him necessarily. When I walked in, I had seen side performers giving personal dances in the corners of the room. Still, Roger raised an eyebrow.

            "Before the next show? Sir, the dance wouldn't be long - he would have to leave early to get back on stage. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to wait until after all of the performances?"

            _The sooner, the better,_ I thought to myself. I couldn't chance anyone else requesting him before me. I smiled lightly at Roger and retrieved my wallet. Digging out a fifty, I handing it to him. "It's fine. Please, now would be perfect. You don't need to tell him who I am, either. I can introduce myself."

            With wide eyes, Roger accepted the bill and slipped it in between the pages of his notepad. "Right away, sir. I'll send him to you right away, if you go over to that roped off corner in the back."

            I turned to where he had indicated and saw that there actually was a roped off area in the back, near the top right corner of the main stage. It was vacated and furnished with a rounded red velvet couch. I wondered for a moment in passing if I would have to pay extra to sit back here, or if it was infinitely reserved for VIPs. I showed myself in and made myself comfortable, waiting patiently for my company. My heart skipped a single beat, my only concern being the chance that the man would decline my offer.

            Soon enough, he emerged from a nearby door which I could only assume led to dressing rooms, and ducked under the rope. In the dimmed light, I could see that his arms shone with a light layer of sweat. Perfect.

            A single snicker caught in his throat. "So you're the rich bastard who bought me out for the, what, ten minutes in between shows?" I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. Probably a bit of both.

            "That's me, Mr...Cherrybomb?" I couldn't help but give him a slight chuckle as well.

            "You can call me Jean," he replied, already getting into his character and swaying his hips to the filler music that had come back on.

            "Jean Cherrybomb?"

            " Kirschtein, actually."

            _Kirschtein._ Cherry _stone_. Well, I couldn't blame him for going with bomb instead.

            "And does my client have a name? Or do you prefer we stick with _rich bastard_? Because I could keep that up, too," he continued, teasing at the waist of his pants. I liked how he maintained his snarky personality, despite knowing I was a wealthy patron. It told me that he was genuine. 

            The corner of my mouth twitched. "Marco Bodt."

            He huffed out through his nose. "Right, right. I got a cousin called Ralph Lauren."

            When I had no reply but a smile, his eyebrows rose high, and he licked once at the lip ring. I bet he didn't even notice how often he did that, but it was unfair how sexy it was.

            "No shit, really? Marco Bodt. Well, Mr. Bodt, hold on to your designer socks, because I'm about to knock them off."

            I had to fight to not roll my eyes at how dorky that line was, but he made up for it with his body, as I expected him to. As the music picked up a bit more, he turned and got on my lap. He ground his ass down and along my thigh, and I didn't bother trying to disguise my excitement. After all, if I couldn't have a boner in strip club, where _could_ I? I hoped I was giving Jean the proper amount of  satisfaction that came with pleasing a VIP. He didn't work at a place as swanky as Suede, so I bet that the opportunity didn't arise often. 

            I have to admit that the man in my lap nearly made me forget the reason I came into the club and requested him in the first place, so before he had to leave me and go back and do his second song, I brought up my intentions.

            I whispered in his ear as he continued to rock his hips in my lap. "Hey, I have a proposition for you."

            "Hm?" he replied. His hand slid up the side of my thigh, and I was silently thankful that he was unaware of the goosebumps rising across my body. He stayed in my lap as I spoke to him, and were I not speaking to him, I'm sure he would have switched positions. I almost wished that he would have stopped rocking so I could concentrate on my words.

            "New York Fashion Week is next week. Besides the actual runway shows I'm expected to appear at, there are countless social events, and I kind of have a reputation to uphold..."

            "Uh-huh..."

            "Well, being successful and having a good social life does not necessarily go hand in hand. I need to appear...well-rounded. It's not enough to have a good showing, fashion wise. Which is where you come in."

            "...Right."

            "I'm looking for someone I can hire as...an _escort_ , more or less to be by my side at all events in New York next week. And, lucky you. You caught my eye."

            Jean stood up and did a seductive turn until he was facing me, and was back to shaking his hips. I was sure his boss or someone was watching and he had to make it look as though he were changing it up a little.

            He scoffed at me. "With all due respect, Mr. Bodt, I can't afford to wear your pocket squares, let alone wear _you_."

            I couldn't help but smile at that, but I shrugged nonetheless. "That's fine, because I'll be the one paying _you_."

            Jean ran his hands down his chest, past his abs, and slid his fingers across his hip bones, where his fingertips brushed lightly against his black rose. I can't imagine I looked especially professional and business-like as I watched his hands trail across his body, but he was making it hard for me not to. Then again, I was in a strip club asking the headliner to be my hired escort. I guess I had already lost a lot of my professionalism.

            "Mr. Bodt, what kind of man do you think I am, that I can just be rented out? I'm a stripper, not a hooker. I _do_ have standards, you know."

            "I'm offering you three grand. As a down payment."

            His eyes widened as he processed my offer. He even stopped moving to the music for a moment. As he regained himself, he put his hands on my shoulders and slid himself forward onto my lap, creating friction between our thighs. I bit my lip gently to hold back a groan. He pulled me towards him, and his lips brushed at my earlobe and he whispered softly.

            "In that case, Mr. Bodt, I'm all yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mouse for the art that inspired me, as well as the hefty amount of asks that inspired the art.
> 
> If you couldn't tell, Jean's song is S&M by Rihanna. Feel free to listen during his dance scene~
> 
> Stay tuned...Fashion Week, more characters, and smut to follow....
> 
> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> I also run the Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [Here](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	2. Rodeo

_Dress me, I'm your mannequin_  
...  
 _j'adore vivienne habillez-moi_  
 _Gucci, Fendi et Prada._  
 _valentino, Armani too._  
 _Merde I love them Jimmy Choo_  
...  
 _Fashion_  
 _Put it all on me_  
 _Don't you want to see these clothes on me_  
  
\- Fashion, Lady GaGa

* * *

 

            I had asked Jean to meet me on Sunset at noon that day. I hoped it wasn't too far out of the way, but considering my reasons for meeting him, I guessed that it wasn't too much to ask him to meet me in Beverly Hills.

            I found him on the street corner, and he wasn't hard to miss, honestly. He was wearing what I can only describe as Daisy Dukes and a loose white tank top with a very "90's" graphic of a palm tree on a neon background. He had on a beat up pair of Doc Martens and sunglasses. The way he leaned against the street post caused his calf muscles to flex and he chewed absent-mindedly at his lip ring.

            I wanted to take a picture of him, leaning up so casually under the Sunset Boulevard sign. It was somehow so editorial, dressed in the California Cool style that some designers would sell for hundreds, when I could be sure that he probably picked up half of his outfit at a thrift shop. I wondered if he would notice me using him for inspiration in my summer line.

            I pulled up to the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other rolling down the black passenger window.

            "You coming?" I called out to him. "Come on, so we can make it look as little like I'm picking up a hooker as possible."

            He tilted his glasses down his nose and came over to lean into my window.

            "But isn't that what you're doing, Mr. Bodt?" he teased.

            "I'm trying to be subtle, thank you! And you can call me Marco. I think we've reached that point."

            He leaned back and surveyed the car, holding his glasses up over his eyes. "An _Aston Martin_ is what you went for to be subtle?"

            "Just get in, would you? It was this, or the Lamborghini."

            He laughed quietly, more out of disbelief than anything, and let himself in. I thought I heard him mutter something about needing to take the Metro just to meet me, but whatever he had said was lost under the rev of the engine.

            "Only rule of the car is no smoking. If you need to do it, wait until we're outside," I told him. I really wasn't too bothered over things like my rare passengers' choices in music, or eating in the car, but smoke was a no-go. The smell was impossible to remove.

            "I don't smoke."

            I side-glanced at him as we rolled up to a stop sign.

            "No kidding?"

            "Nope. No smoking, no drugs. I told you - I'm a stripper, but it's just my living. I have standards, remember?"

            I shrugged. "Yeah, but people have different definitions of what standards are. Alright then, no smoking."

            "Yeah...besides, this body and my stamina has to last me a long time."

            I half smiled, and I couldn't help but wonder if his stamina helped him in places other than the stage.

            "So, where are we going again?" he asked. He folded up his sunglasses and hung them from the collar of his tank, the sun out of our way now that we were headed East. They tugged the fabric of his collar down just far enough that I could see the start of his pecs. Damn, I had made a good choice.

            "Rodeo Drive. Not far," I replied. He grinned.

            "What is this, _Pretty Woman_?"

            "Are you complaining?" I asked, an eyebrow cocked.

            "Am I getting new stuff?"

            "Well, yeah."

            "Then no, I'm not complaining."

            I smiled to myself as I shifted gears. My engine thrummed as we sped down the length of Sunset, and in my peripheral vision, I saw Jean's long fingers curl around the edge of the matte black leather seat. We weren't going quite as fast as the car made it seem like we were going, but there definitely was that adrenaline rush. I enjoyed peoples' first reactions to my cars - another one of the fame perks that balanced out the cons. I imagine he would have pissed himself had we been in the Lamborghini, and while I had strongly considered bringing it instead, if just for his reaction alone, I really was already doing a poor job of staying under the radar.

            I turned to Jean as much as I could without taking my eyes too far off of the road, looking him up and down a few times.

            "What, am I too hot or something?" he asked. His fingers had loosened from the seat and now rested behind his head as he enjoyed the ride.

            _Yes_. "No.  I was just thinking...I mean, you could have been a little more subtle, too. We _are_ headed to Rodeo Drive after all. Maybe back there, a three-hundred-thousand dollar car picking up a guy like you on the street corner would have been suspicious, but we're going to one of the most famous, high-class shopping streets _in the world_. I'm going to be the one blending in there."

            "What do you mean, _a guy like you_? What's that supposed to mean?"

            "Is that really all you got from what I just said? You know what I mean."

            "Never mind," he shrugged. I expected him to be annoyed - offended, even, but he didn't seem to be. "Besides, I couldn't have if I wanted to. I don't have any clothes remotely nice enough to blend in with this car or that street, anyway. But isn't that why you're taking me there in the first place? To fix up my wardrobe? And at the very least, I'll blend in with the touristy college kids window shopping."

            I nodded, accepting defeat. He did have a point. I was mostly concerned with how he might be treated on Rodeo Drive as long as he actually _looked_ like he had to take a bus to get to me. Personally, I was fine getting to admire his thighs and shop at the same time. I just needed to say something so that he wouldn't think so.

            After a few minutes of silence, I gestured to the stereo. "Put it on whatever you want," I offered to him, and he obliged immediately. Something about that reminded me of our first meeting, when he offered to continue calling me _rich bastard_. He didn't pussyfoot around me just because of my money and name. I couldn't count on my fingers the number of passengers I had had that felt too uncomfortable to take control of my car stereo. The offer had become of a test of character, and Jean was passing.

            He turned the dial and stopped on some generic Top 40's station. Not a bad choice - he was hiding his own music taste while avoiding displeasing me by putting on music that was created to stick in your head so easily that you had no choice but to like it. Well played, Kirschtein.

            Unless, of course, his favorite kind of music _was_ the stuff they play on the Top 40's stations. Whatever. I don't judge.

            _And it goes like this, take me by the tongue and I'll know you, kiss me 'til you're drunk, and I'll show you..._

            He threw his head back and let out a loud laugh.

            "What, is this song funny now?" I asked, tapping my fingers in time on the steering wheel. I had always liked it, kind of. It was a good "dance during that too rare moment when you're home alone" song.

            _All the moves like Jagger, I've got the moves like Jagger, I've got the moves like Jagger._

            He let out a final chuckle before explaining. "No, no, this is the song I danced to for the past two weeks, before the _S &M_ routine. I can't hear it the same way anymore." He reached to changed to a different station, but I swatted his hand away.

            "Nope. Now we definitely need to listen to it."

            He pouted, but retreated back without protest. It didn't take long for his laughing smile to return. Really, I was just trying to envision the dance I had seen him do matched to Adam Levine's voice. Unfortunately, I was having a hard time.

            "This seems a little..."

            "Lame, I think, is the word you're looking for there," he interrupted.

            "No, no, it isn't _that_ bad. It just sounds like a song that was written _trying_ to be a stripper song, but it turned out all poppy like this, and now it'll never be taken seriously as something really sexy."

            He bit at his lip. I was learning that this was his thinking habit. "...Yeah, that's about right. My boss picked it out, though. I did what I could with it. I'd like to think that I salvaged it a bit, but honestly, I'm glad you chose this week to come. I chose to do _S &M_. I mean, it's got a similar thing going for it, but you have to admit it does _sound_ sexier."

            I had to agree there. "Yeah, I never really thought _sexy_ would be the first word I would use to describe Mick Jagger...I mean....yeah, no. I didn't even realize he had _moves_ that could be sung about."

            He tossed his hands up. "Exactly! Thank you. Boss did _not_ get that. He kept saying that no one was going to be focusing on the words, but come on. Everyone knows this song. It would have driven me crazy."

            I chuckled, understanding how the song would be ruined for Jean forever, although I was secretly hoping I would hear it more often from that moment on. Now that I had already seen the goods in motion, it would be like having a private show playing in my head every time one of his songs played.

            I would have allowed him to change the song at that point, but we had finally rolled up to our destination. I parked on the curb across from the main row of shops, not worrying about my car standing out too much. If anything, there were at least three more expensive cars on the street.       

            I got out of the car and couldn't help looking around to see who would be witnessing Jean and his booty shorts getting out of my car. Two college age girls strolled by, but they seemed a lot more focused on Jean's legs than the fact that he did not match the car that he was leaning on.

            I like to think that I was more casual that day than I had been at Skitzo. I wasn't in a full on suit and tie - just black pants and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows. It was just Lacoste with Aldo shoes. Not as flashy, but...the difference between my companion and I was still fairly drastic. I was doing a terrible job of _not_ looking like a sugar daddy, but I guess that was going to be inevitable. I already had a three thousand dollar check for him written out and sitting on the counter at home, and the down payment wasn't including everything I was buying him now, airfare, meals, or anything else that might come up. There was always going to be that chance that I was going to exude that sugar daddy aura.

 Oh, well.

 As long as he wasn't recognized as a Hollywood stripper on Rodeo Drive, I could play him off as a boyfriend, maybe even an intern or employee, that I just felt like spoiling. Which was why I got him from Hollywood rather than Suede in the first place. Still, I wondered if it would have killed him to at least wear pants. If I had not been with him, I was sure that there would be some stores that would refuse him service.

            "Ready?" I asked, locking the car. He just seemed to be having a good enough time resting against the Vanquish's hood.

            He shrugged a reply and came to follow me with a sort of stride that suggested that he had shopped here a million times, but I think he was at least a little excited.

            "Alright, where to..." I muttered to myself, contemplating which store would be a good first choice. I could almost feel Jean ogling down the street from behind me. "C'mon, we'll go to Valentino first."

            "Where?" Jean asked. Not because he hadn't heard me. He just had no idea what I was talking about. I smiled in reply, saying nothing. The store would speak for itself. In the high-fashion world of the glitterati, _everyone_ knew Valentino. But I wasn't surprised that Jean didn't know what I was talking about. He would know Calvin Klein. He would know Ralph Lauren. Those were big names, and famous, but common. Valentino was too high to be common. He would become acquainted soon enough.

            "Here we are," I said, gesturing to the Valentino store front. I heard him mutter something along the lines of "God _damn_ " as he eyed the window displays, but he walked in as I held the door open for him anyway.

            I had expected the employees to turn him away, but they did something almost worse - they ignored him completely. To them, this less-than-high-middle-class guy in frayed denim wasn't even worth the time it took to tell him that he couldn't afford anything. They looked up when he entered and looked immediately away, before catching a glimpse of me. It was a mistake, but I forgave them. I suppose it was my fault for letting Jean walk in before me.

            Even after I followed in behind and let the glass doors shut behind me, the workers didn't look up, and they fiddled with racks that didn't need attending to, just to avoid Jean, and who they probably assumed was his equally trashy friend - me. I mean, not that _I'm_ calling him trashy. As I already mentioned, I was perfectly happy with the eyeful of toned leg I was being treated with. But ask these workers, and he would have been trashy.

            Done with waiting for them to look about again and realize who they were snubbing, I cleared my throat, loudly, in a way that said "if you value your jobs, you will notice me right now." And they did.

            "Oh! Sir! Sorry, did not see you there. May we help you?" One young girl asked. Too young. Too inexperienced. Experienced enough to tell that Jean wasn't worth marketing to, and experienced enough to be able to tell that I had potential to be a paying customer, but too inexperienced to recognize me by my face alone. That was fine. It was my tag and name that told people who I was.

            "Yes, I'd like to see Amalia, please," I requested, asking for the owner of the branch by name. I knew she was normally there on Fridays. "You can tell her that Marco Bodt is here to see her."

            The color drained completely from the two workers' faces. "R-right away, sir," the first girl answered, and she scurried away, as fast as her heels and pencil skirt would allow her to move, with the second girl right behind her. Retrieving Amalia was by no means a two person job, but there was no way in hell that second girl was going to stand around after having just blown off Marco Bodt - and if I were to considered a celebrity on any street, it would be this one. She wasn't going to risk getting chewed out by a designer, either, being the lowest she could possibly be in the industry. I mean, I never would have yelled at her. But she didn't know that. I think my freckles intimidated her. I know for sure it wasn't Mr. Undercut over here,  gaping over price tags. I heard him sputter.

            "What?" I asked. He was holding a camouflage cashmere sweater. Of course. The camo was a hit in Valentino's newest line. Men's version of shabby chic, I suppose.

            "It's eleven hundred dollars!" he choked out. He stroked the soft sleeve.

            "Yeah, it's cashmere. You want it? Everyone will know who you're wearing. Valentino's camouflage this season was kind of a big deal. Pretty good for a casual day. Paired with some black Christian Louboutin sneakers..."

            The girls returned with Amalia before Jean could argue wearing an $1100 sweater for a _casual_ day, like I somehow knew he would have. Anyone who wasn't used to wearing things that price would have, I'm sure. I didn't bother mentioning that Louboutin sneakers were even more expensive. He was going to get a pair anyway, probably.

            "Marco, darling!" Amalia announced her arrival in her subtle Italian accent. A stereotypical matronly, but fashionable, bun was piled on her head. "I should have been alerted the moment you stepped in the door. I'm so sorry about that. I'll have to talk to the girls; they're new, they don't know..." She shot them a stern look.

            "No, don't worry about it. Could you just bring out whatever you have that's new in menswear?"

            "Need something for Fashion Week?" I loved Amalia. She was on top of things.

            "Well, not for me. I need to dress my, um, friend here. I intend to buy him a full new wardrobe for the week. He'll be accompanying me. I won't buy it all here, but I need options. "

            Amalia gave me a knowing smile.  "Ah, he will be joining you? A new intern, perhaps? _O nuovo ragazzo_?"

            I returned the smile. Well, he was my new boyfriend for the week, at least. Even if he had been purchased. I shrugged. " _Sì, più o meno_..."

            Amalia nodded and got back into business mode, looking Jean up and down. Knowing he would be my companion to Fashion Week, _and_ knowing I would be buying him new clothes, she seemed to be looking at his structure and physical makeup, rather than what he was wearing at that moment, unlike the other employees had done. They were shying away, and she was trying to figure out what would fit him best. I could already see her flicking through racks upon racks in her mind.

            "Alright, I have the perfect things. You wait here. Come, girls."

            Amalia turned out, the employees bustling right behind, relieved to be leaving my presence. I knew they would dread me coming into the store whenever the next time would be. I looked forward to it.

            " _You know Italian?_ " Jean whispered to me as they scurried away. He was still fondling the sleeve of the sweater.

            "Eh, a little. Just the basics, I guess. I know a little in Italian, Spanish, French, and German.  It's useful for travelling and dealing with international designers and models. Of which there are a lot... _Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_ "

            "What? What, no."

            "But your last name-"

            "Is German, yeah, my dad is German, but I don't speak the language. Except for like...three words."

            "Ah...that's a shame. _Mein Deutsch ist sehr gut._ My family is Belgian and a lot of my family speaks German only, like my grandparents, so it's my best. I thought that, maybe with your last name, you might be able to."

            "Yeah, my last name is, like...one of the three German words I know."

            "What are the other two?" I was curious now. I didn't think he was counting conventional words, like _hallo_ , and _gesundheit_. He was quiet for a pause before finally replying.

            "... _Sheiβe._ And _schlampe_."

            Shit and slut. _How_ was I not surprised?

            "Well, alright. I'll have to teach you a little more sometime. I'll tell you, you haven't lived until you've spoken to Heidi Klum in her mother tongue. It's a beautiful experience."

            "You know Heidi Klum." It wasn't a question.

            "I was a guest judge on Project Runway last season," I explained with a nonchalant shrug (although, honestly, it was one of my proudest moments).

             Before he could even react, Amalia was back with a rack, hand selected to fit Jean. She had already weeded out what she knew I would throw out.

            "Here we are, Mr. Bodt. I've pulled three dress shirts and three casual, and two pants."

            I flicked through them, already knowing they would be perfect. I was just taking inventory to make sure what else we would need.

            "That's perfect, Amalia, thank you. Actually-" I pulled the camo sweater away from Jean's caress and added it to the rack. "That too, and we'll be set."

            "But-" was all the protest Jean could get out.

            "Are you paying?"

            "No."

            "Then you're getting it, and liking it."

            Despite that he was the one getting treated, I was getting a strange surge of power and satisfaction from doing this. It was like the feeling you get when you donate to a charity, except for in this case, my charity was a sexy man I could manipulate because I was throwing what he knew to  be shit tons of money at him. It was great. I wondered if I could adopt him permanently. 

            I paid without even hearing the total, and we left. I let Jean carry one of the bags so that he didn't look quite so pathetic. I figured if he was seen with a Valentino bag, people might guess that his lame 90's tank was actually from some expensive LA unknown.

            As I promised him, we ended up going to get the Louboutins, where he eventually did see the price tag, and if my car didn't cause him to piss a little, that did.

             "The clothes are fine, but I'm walking on these! They're going to get destroyed!" was his chosen form of protest. I told him that if he didn't shut up, he was going to get two pairs.

            We popped into Armani to pick up at least one decent suit, as well as Gucci, Prada, and Ralph Lauren. At each store front, we had a similar case as we had with Valentino's. We just made it a little faster by having me walk in first. By the end of the day, we had enough clothes for him to have a formal and casual outfit for each day of the week, as well as two bags, three ties, four pairs of shoes, and a cologne. By the time we had left the last shop, he had stopped his protesting. He learned quickly that money was no issue for me, especially when I got discounts here and there just for being who I was.

            It was the Golden Hour by the time we had gotten back to the Aston Martin, and we struggled to fit the bags in the back seat without messing any of them up.

            "I forgot to mention that we're headed back to my place," I brought up, and waited for his argument. It took a while to come.

            "I was going to say I didn't bring anything with me, but that doesn't matter, does it?"

            I shook my head wordlessly. It wasn't like he would need any of his clothes. We weren't leaving for New York until Sunday, but there was no harm in him starting to wear his new style tomorrow and on the plane.

            "You don't mind staying the night, do you? I have plenty of guest rooms, so you won't have to worry about that." I was making it as open and non-sexual as possible. We didn't need to get into that yet, as much as I would have been fully willing to. It was ironic that we started out relationship with a lap dance, where he wore next to nothing, but I needed to gain his trust. He had told me that he had standards, and I was going to respect that. I was paying him to be my escort and companion in New York, not in my bedroom. I wasn't going to turn him into a prostitute. If our arrangement turned sexual, I was going to make sure that it was legitimate.

            "No,  I don't mind," he replied without missing a beat. I doubt anything sexual crossed his mind as much as it did mine in that moment, and I was again glad that he didn't feel awkward around me. If anything, it would make it easier for me to earn his trust.

            "Good, because we have a lot to go over before we get to New York," I explained. "Wardrobe isn't enough. You need a complete transformation if anyone is going to believe that you are a high-class boyfriend of mine, and not...well, you." Again, not that that was a bad thing. He seemed to understand. I was also curious to see how he would react to my first use of the word "boyfriend" as opposed to "escort" or "companion" - especially since he had apparently not understood Amalia's use of the word _ragazzo_.

            He seemed completely unfazed. Although, at this point, I don't think he cared _what_ I called him. He was getting paid, he was getting treated, and as long as I didn't fuck with him or his standards (which is another way of saying "as long as I respected him and didn't outright pay him to be my gigolo"), he was going to sit back and enjoy the ride.

            As we neared my home in Beverly Hills, I couldn't ignore the one thing that kept nagging at me. I was paying him to be mine in public, but I would be keeping business and private life completely separate. So what the _hell_ was going to happen behind closed doors in our New York hotel room?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's quite convenient writing about Beverly Hills and Sunset Blv. when you live on Sunset in Beverly Hills...
> 
> Extras:
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ps77Ai9p2P0) is Jean's money-picking-up stripper dance move. You're welcome. 
> 
> The Camo Valentino collection is a thing! [These](http://store.valentino.com/searchresult.asp?tskay=B60ACEA7&sts=VALENTINO&CAMOUFLAGE=Uomo&season=main&gender=U&collection_id=21476&mm=112) are the clothes Jean got (including the camo cashmere sweater).
> 
> It'll only heat up from here...
> 
> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [X](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	3. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeans POV

_There's only so much you can learn in one place_  
 _The more that you wait_  
 _The more time that you waste_  
 _I'll work and I'll fight till I find a place of my own_

\- Jump, Madonna

* * *

 

            Alright. How am I coming off? Nonchalant? Like this kind of thing happens to me every day? Maybe it's just my attitude. I kind of...come off like that, I guess. You know...flippant? Yeah. Just my exterior. Maybe that's why a lot of people, guys usually, don't want to take me much further than the doors of Skitzo. They like the exterior, but not the _exterior_. Get what I'm saying? I guess it makes sense then that the first "serious" boyfriend I get after the past few years paid for me and needs me to be as least like an average stripper as possible.  But that's neither here nor there. Why?

            Because, despite my I'm-so-cool attitude, and the way I roll with the punches, I have to say, I actually think I'm the luckiest son of a bitch in Los Angeles at the moment. Disagree with me? Fine. Show me another lower-middle class person in LA who went from a nobody dancer to having their net worth, in wardrobe alone, go up about ten thousand dollars in a single afternoon. Not to mention, they have to have a pretty smoking benefactor. Yeah, that's right. Marco Bodt is pretty hot. Although, honestly, it's probably like some unwritten law that you have to be hot to be a in the fashion industry. You wouldn't buy clothes from someone who didn't have it together, would you? Well, maybe. But you get the drift. I think it was the rolled up sleeves on his button up shirt he wore. That _kills_ me. I don't know why. Maybe I have a thing for forearms. Maybe it's the perfect combination of relaxed and refined. I don't know. But I like it.

            Anyway, I was already feeling pretty lucky the night before, getting offered three grand. I mean, talk about a tip. As it is, I have to pull out the big guns to get a twenty. I thought I was keeping it tame to get _that_ much so early in the night. But then again, I guess the rich bastard was on a mission. He probably was set on offering the money before he had even seen anyone dance.

            But here's the thing though - while I had taken to calling him rich bastard, he isn't a bastard at all. I just assumed, you know, the Armani suit and all. But aside from the mild snobbery that comes with the fortune, he doesn't have much of a bastardly bone in his body. Which is _exactly_ why I'm keeping up the nickname.

            If that wasn't enough, he rolls up in a damn _Aston Martin_ to pick me up. An Aston Martin Vanquish, which has been my dream car ever since I had first seen one. And by dream car, I mean it's been a dream of mine to ride in one. To own one would be a whole new level of desire. I swear to God, that engine nearly gave me an orgasm.

            And the _shopping_. I don't have any words for it. Kind of surreal as it is, really, and I'm still trying to get my mind wrapped around the value we had in the back seat of the car. What did I do to deserve it? Be in the right strip club at the same time? I guess you could play if off by saying that he's just doing it to make himself look good, but he's stupidly nice about it. Like, did I need that camo sweater? No.

            But if all of that didn't make me realize how lucky I was, seeing his house did. It was like I was hit in the head with a brick. Or ten thousand, plus period style columns, a round-a-bout driveway, and a classy fountain. It kind of gave me an idea of what I was really dealing with. Let me put it this way - we basically pulled up to Regina George's house, and before you say anything, _everyone_ has seen _Mean Girls_. Since I'm too gay to function, I've seen it at least fifteen times.

            I'm pretty sure I let a loose _'fuck'_ escape my mouth, and the saintliest bastard in Beverly Hills chuckled at me as he locked the car. I followed him in and I was kind of surprised and disappointed to see that a butler wasn't there to open the door for us.

            "Oh, I have one," Marco confirmed after I voiced my disappointment. "He just wasn't expecting me. Besides, there's no point ringing the bell and waiting for him to answer when I have a key right here." See? He could be a lot worse. To be honest, I'd probably be the asshole that would ring the doorbell with a key in my hand. I'm bad, I know.

            I followed him inside, and sure enough, a butler was there in his foyer (which was immaculate, by the way), but not old and hoity-toity like you might expect. He was just a dude. So I guess that was a little disappointing, too, but when the most disappointing thing about someone is that their butler is old and doesn't open the door...I'd say we had pretty good footing.

            "Thomas, where did you put the binder?" Marco addressed him, as he dusted the banister on a staircase.

            "It's on the shelf, sir, where you requested I put it last time."

            "Right, then. I'm going to get it. Would you please assist Jean, here, in bringing in the bags from the Aston Martin? Bring them into the right sitting room, please. And please treat him as you would treat me. He's our special guest here."

            I don't know how much Thomas knew about Marco's actual relationship to me, but he just nodded like it was nothing. "Got a lot of shopping done today, Master Jean?"

            _Master_ Jean. Fancy that. I can tell you the last time someone called me master. I can also tell you that it wasn't a butler and I was not on prime real estate. He helped me carry in what bags we had and I followed him to the right wing to where Marco had a sitting room. It wasn't as museum-y as I expected, and after that, I decided to toss out any other millionaire clichés I had, because after being wrong about the butler, and wrong about the decor, I figured not all of them lived like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, with the Geoffrey butler and the all white. Still, it was a nice room. Very warm feeling, with dark wood and plump burgundy love seats. In the center of the room was a round table with dark wood to match the rest of the room, and on the table was a thick binder. Marco sat on one of the love seats with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, staring at the binder, until he looked up when I walked in with Thomas.

            "Oh, thank you Thomas, you can just leave the bags there and we'll sort them out in a bit. Jean, come have a seat next to me, we have work to do. And Thomas? Could you bring drinks, please?"

            The butler bowed out and left the room as I took a seat next to where Marco gestured. The sound of drinks was so fantastic to me that I didn't even care that we had work to do, whatever it was. Considering I had thrown out my Richie Rich tropes, I hoped we would be getting something a little stronger than high tea. Shamed to say my feet were killing me after walking around all day, and I rubbed at my ankles where my Docs had chafed me.

            "Do you want to change before we start?" Marco offered. "You can start getting used to the feel of the new clothes."

            I looked down at myself, the way my tank top hung off of me and the way the frayed edges of my shorts lay on my thighs. "No, it's alright, I'm fine like this for now, let's just get this done, whatever it is."

            Really, I wouldn't have minded changing clothes, but I figured I could go for teasing my benefactor a little more. I had seen him looking at my legs, and I wasn't going to hide the view from him sooner than I had to. I was having a perfectly fine time, now that he could look and not necessarily touch, being out of the strip club.

            Marco lifted the binder onto his lap just as Thomas made his way in with wine, thank God, and it was probably really fancy stuff, too. No two buck chuck in this house.

            "So what is this that we have to do, exactly?" I asked, sipping gingerly at my wine. Better than any wine I had ever had before, so I took a second sip.

            "Like I said, it's not enough for you to have nice clothes. I need to train you on how to be part of our circle."

            "What, like etiquette lessons?" Because if that was the case, my manners were just _fine_. I knew how to act in high class situations, even if I wasn't always a part of them.

            "No, I'm sure you can handle all of that. I just need to get you to a point where you sound like you belong. If you know who's who, you should be able to get along fine. For example, let's start here..."

            Marco flipped open to one of the first pages where there were four pictures of four different men, two on each page, with a bio next to each. It was then that it hit me - Marco had a binder of just _people_ in the fashion industry. I had to tip my hat to him for staying on top of it all.

            "Alright," he said, "These four are the most important in the industry right now. Well, the two on the right are. If someone namedrops them, and you don't know who they're talking about, your cover will be blown almost instantaneously."

            He pointed first to the man one the top of the left page. He had an extremely stoic expression and black hair that kind of fell into his eyes. His age was impossible to place, and despite his intimidating appearance, he was pretty hot.

            "This is Levi."

            "Just Levi?"

            "Just Levi. He goes by his first name only, like Cher, or Madonna, but if anyone has a right to, it's him. Before you ask, no, he does not make Levi's, but he might be just as famous as the guy who does. Eighty percent or more of everything you see on the red carpet nowadays is done by him."

            "Why haven't I heard of him, then?"

            "He mostly deals in high class women's fashion, and when he does something for men, it's ridiculously expensive." I eyed the bags sitting in the other side of the room. "No, we didn't buy anything of his," he said, answering my silent question. He paused a moment before bringing up another question.

            "Have you seen _The Incredibles_?"

            I stared at him, slightly taken aback at the random question. "Yeah...I saw it in theaters when it came out."

            "Levi is the Edna Mode of our world."

            " _Oh_."

            "Yes. And if you don't recognize him, we might as well cancel all the plans now. Same goes for this man."

            Marco traced his finger down to the photo below Levi's. It was a blonde man, also quite handsome, but I somehow didn't have him pegged as a designer.

            "If Levi is Edna Mode, then this is- hm...have you seen _The Devil Wears Prada_?"

            I nodded, not mentioning that it was actually a favorite of mine. And I'm telling you right now not to judge me because the only three movies you know I've watched are _Mean Girls_ , _The Incredibles_ , and _The Devil Wears Prada_. Just...no. I babysit my cousins, alright? It's not my fault if I happen to enjoy the movies we watch.

            Marco continued. "Erwin Smith _is_ Miranda Priestly."

            "Oh, shit."

            "Yeah. Editor in Chief of our own _Runway_. And he _may not_ bite your head off, but if you give respect to _anyone_ , give it to him."

            "What about Levi?"

            Marco made a face like he was thinking hard. "Yeah, even above Levi, actually. Erwin Smith will always be in charge, because he decides who's in and who's out in editing that magazine. At the moment, though, Levi is a favorite of Erwin's. They're seen together often, and recently, Levi's had a lot of editorial shots."

            "What about these two?" I asked, gesturing to the faces on the right page, opposite Erwin and Levi. They looked a bit younger, maybe my age, and I couldn't imagine they had as much authority.

            "Their interns. Coffee boys, if you will. And you think that's nothing, but those are the two most coveted positions for young people trying to get into the industry. Spend a few years as an intern for Levi or Erwin and you're pretty much set, if you can survive. It's grueling. _The Devil Wears Prada_ is pretty close to the truth in all honesty."

            I shuddered and gave them silent props. Again, lucky. I didn't do jack shit to get my spot in the 'fashion industry.' Poor saps.

            "It's best that you know them, too. It shows more respect for their bosses and we should just know these things. Besides, since you're coming as Marco Bodt's escort or boyfriend or whatever the hell you are, you'll probably be more expected to mingle with them, rather than people like Erwin and Levi. These are the ones you'll be talking to, and those are the ones you will have to know about."

            He pointed first to the one across from Levi. "This is Eren. He's stupidly passionate about his job. It's almost scary, but if it were less, it wouldn't meet Levi's standards. It's kind of a perfect match, but he's very intense about everything we do. I've seen some of his ideas for fashion, and they aren't bad, but they're all overly ambitious and push the limit. He could make three out-of-the-box dresses, and while two may be the ugliest thing to grace the planet, the third could be a masterpiece, so...he's getting there. Very hit and miss. He's crazy loyal, though. I've heard him be referred to as Levi's little lapdog before. You can be the judge of that."

            I smirked, enjoying the inner workings of the industry. I don't what it was, but I was kind of obsessed with relationships and the way everyone tied together. I bet it would help me memorize everyone.

            "And this is Armin," Marco added, pointing to the face below Eren's. This guy looked like he could be related to Erwin, really. It was the blonde hair and determined, steady expressions. "He is beyond organized and methodical. No one is supposed to know, but he's actually helped with a lot of the magazine ideas, as far as layout and design goes, amongst other things. He could never help with the final say, but we all know Erwin had listened to his input. He's not the most profound of designers, but he definitely knows his stuff. Chances are, you will never see these four far from each other. Eren and Armin knew each other from before actually, as well as another, Mikasa Ackerman. However, she went on to be an actual designer, and fast. Her skill and speed is to die for, really."

            Marco flipped the pages to Mikasa, a very pretty Asian girl, with samples of dresses she had designed paper clipped to her portrait. Even I could appreciate the intricacy and overwhelming detail that went into each one.

            I was introduced to Annie Leonhardt as well, who shared a page with Mikasa and also had designs up. Hers were bolder with sharp, defined lines. They were so different from Mikasa's delicate work, but Marco informed me that the girls were at each other's throats constantly to one-up each other in women's fashion.

            We went through what felt like hundreds of photographs, and I have to say, I'm not sure if the wine helped or harmed my memory of them all, but it was something appreciated anyway. There were a few that distinctly stuck out to me, however. Amongst those we had already gone over, there was another women designer, Ymir, who had just made a breakthrough with menswear for women. She was in a rather famous and publicized relationship with a girl called Christa, a rather new Victoria's Secret Angel, who was turning heads because she was attractive enough that she could get away with being the shortest model in the industry. There was also a duo of designers, Connie Springer and Sasha Braus, who had recently started a collaboration brand called Sweet Potatoes that they were planning to show. A lot of the outfits had a sort of hippie vibe, with eclectic styling and 'organic materials,' whatever that meant.

            We skimmed quickly through more models that weren't necessary for me to remember, just because it would be useful for me to recognize their faces. To be honest, besides Christa, some of the attractive male models were all that really stuck out to me. I had the designers down pretty well, and the most important and breakthrough artists. Marco had pretty high standing, actually, and then there was the "Edna Mode and Miranda Priestly" duo (who, actually, I was kind of nervous about possibly meeting). Mikasa and Annie, the dualists, the Sweet Potatoes duo, and Ymir were the other previously unknown designers that I lodged in my mind, and I kind of knew a smattering of models that I could get by.

            "Are we done yet?" I groaned, running my hand through my hair. I know I was being paid to learn this and everything, but I felt that, by this point, we were just going around in circles. We had poured over the binder for hours, and I don't know if Marco actually expected me to have everyone memorized. I could not name everyone off the top of my head, but when I was shown a picture of them, I could at least describe them if I didn't know what their actual name was, and as long as I could match a face to a name, I was good, right? Besides, after having sat on that loveseat in my short shorts for so long, I was starting to get uncomfortable and I really wished that I had opted to change. For as much as we spent on my new clothes, I bet that they wouldn't give me the discomfort issue.

            "I guess so," Marco said, like he was reluctant to give up on the studying. I couldn't see why. I understood that I had to know this stuff, but he had to be as over it as I was, just sitting there going over faces and names that he was probably even more sick of than I was. His eyes flitted to my lap as I sat up slightly to tug at my riding-up shorts. Oh.

            "So, the flight leaves tomorrow about noon. Do you think you can be ready by then? We'll just be leaving from LAX, so it won't take too long for us to get to the airport. I have your ticket bought and everything."

            Normally, I would have expressed not having enough time to be ready, or pack, or prepare, but in this case, I realized I didn't actually have much to prepare for. Technically, with my clothes in bags, all the clothes I needed were already packed, and Marco later informed me that Thomas would be transferring everything to suitcases. Everything was being provided for, and when I found out I was even going to be given my own dental floss, I realized how much I was being pampered, even more so than when I had been bought fancy clothes.

            It did seem extreme at first, but now that I think about it, it probably wasn't extreme for Marco at all. This is probably how he would treat his _real_ boyfriend. It didn't make much of a difference if I was a nobody, because his whole plan was to treat me the exact same way. I guess it was just me coming from nothing and suddenly having everything at my fingertips that made it extreme for me. All of this was just another day in the life of multimillionaire Marco Bodt. I was going to get used to living the same life, I thought. For a week, at least.

            So since "being ready" wasn't an issue, I brought up the only other thing there was to be sassy about.

            "You already had my ticket? How did you know I was even going to come?"

            Marco shrugged, not realizing that I was just being bitchy.

            "I was going to hire someone whether it was you or not," he responded. "I had the check written out, too. I was hoping whoever headlined at Skitzo that night would fit the part. I was lucky enough."

            I shrugged then, having nothing left to say, and let him show me to my guest room. It turned out that there were multiple, and I wasn't exactly surprised, but I was happy with the one I was given and didn't need to see any others.

            "You have your own bathroom, just there to the left, and the shower should be completely stocked for you. If you need anything, just ring the bell on your bedside table and Thomas will be right in to assist you. Sleep well!"

            He sounded genuine as he left the room and went off to wherever he would be sleeping. I took in the room, breathing in the air of it. It reminded me of a hotel room - a ridiculously nice one that I couldn't afford - and it was definitely nicer than my own bedroom at home. The bed was a queen size and had those soft satiny kind of sheets that I could never resist sliding a hand over when I saw them at the store. Everything was dark greens and browns, and for some reason, it just made everything look more expensive. As if it wasn't already.

            I saw that Thomas had laid out my new pajamas and I just sighed, running a hand over my forehead and across my hair until it flopped over my eyes once more. I put them over my arm and took them into the bathroom with me, figuring out that if I didn't get used to the luxe lifestyle now, I never would, and everyone I would meet in the next week would see through me.

            I stripped and got in the shower, laying out my things in a neat pile on the toilet seat. I never would have been so meticulous at home, or even the dressing room at work, as I had a tendency to throw my clothes all over the place in semi-organized chaotic piles. However, I felt different here, like I had a part to play, even behind closed doors. It was like that weird feeling you get when you're staying the night at a friend's house and you have to use their shower, and it's a routine thing but it feels so foreign to you. But on a much larger scale.

            I stepped into the shower, which was actually fairly normal. It wasn't one of those freaky billion-dollar showers that looks like it came from the future or anything. Just...nice, with one of those large, massaging heads and mosaic rock walls. I laughed quietly to myself noticing the shower was stocked with Axe products. For some reason, I expected Marco to be stocked with some expensive salon products instead, but I shrugged. He was still a dude, and these were the best smelling dude products, so whatever. I turned on the shower and let the hot droplets sooth my back muscles which had begun to ache as I had crouched over the binder with Marco. I felt a twinge between my legs, remembering how the large book had hiked my shorts up further, and how I had been painfully aware of Marco's awareness. God damn it. The point had been to be a brat and tease him, right? Well, it backfired, clearly.

            With one hand, I helped myself out a little, not thinking of any freckled millionaire in particular and trying to ignore how easy my excitement had come, and with the other hand, I shook water and shampoo out of my mop of hair. I made my best attempt to scrub off any remnants of Jean Cherrybomb, so that when I stepped out of the shower, I could be Jean Kirschtein, the high class socialite boyfriend of Marco Bodt. Maybe the shower had magical powers that would somehow make that happen a little faster and more accurately.

            I got out and dried myself off, making use of all the toiletries that had been provided to me, including the floss. It may have been the first time I had ever flossed, but I was a new person. Kind of. I think.

            I shook a towel over my hair and tied another low around my hips, hesitating to put on the pajamas for as long as possible. I even got into bed completely naked at first. And I don't know what I was expecting, really. Well, I mean, I do know what I was expecting, I guess. But after all, after the talk about my standards and the shower washing away the Cherrybomb, and even jerking out all excitement I thought I had, I was and always will be a stripper. It's kind of part of my identity at this point. I'm used to tempting people, getting them to pay me, and then getting them to request for me to do more stuff, and then getting paid again. It's the regular cycle of things. And I had already tempted Marco. And I had already gotten one _hell_ of a payment, with even more to come. So when did the part come where he came back for more?

            Okay. So I guess that would make me a prostitute, technically. And I _did_ say I was just a stripper and nothing more. And he _did_ say I was being hired as an escort. But...damn. I had seen him looking and the three grand is kind of much to just be the boyfriend in public. With every action, Marco became less and less the rich bastard I had believed him to be. It was kind of incredible.

            It's not that I was...you know, like, _disappointed_. It was just...I mean, after everything, I did still kind of expect it. Not that I wanted it or anything. I had just seen him looking, and I thought for sure...

            I slipped into the pajamas once I was positive that I wasn't going to be slipping out of them again anyway and fell asleep wondering what it was about me that made Marco Bodt _not_ want to take advantage of the situation. Because I know I would have. If I were him.

            Boarding the plane the next day was, again, a surreal experience. Partly because it was an actual plane ride, which I generally just don't experience. Partly because we were in first class, which I thought was a myth, to be honest. Partly because the second we were in the airport, I had to start my masquerade.

            Marco told me that paparazzi and glitterati were _everywhere_ , and LAX was an especially great place to find them - particularly on the eve of fashion week and headed to a flight going to New York. If they saw us indifferent towards each other and then a couple in New York, someone would notice for sure, so we smiled and chatted and makes it look like we were invested in each other. Actually, it wasn't so hard. Marco was kind of easy to talk to, and the fact that he wasn't the douche I had expected was a great help.

            I had wondered if my new clothes would make it harder for Marco to look at me the way he had looked at me the two days before, when I had worn next to nothing. I tried his technique of rolling up my button up shirt's sleeves to the elbows, and even I was attracted to myself. If anything different was running through his mind though, I couldn't tell. It was stupid of me. Of course he was going to look at me like he wanted me - he was acting. He even thought he saw someone he recognized and grabbed my hand in the terminal in case they saw us. I just went with it. I guess, probably, maybe I would have pulled it away otherwise, but I kept the situation at the front of my mind and didn't allow myself to. You know, just in case he decided to take money back. So I held his hand.

            I'd tell you all about first class and the atmosphere and experience and all that jazz, but I actually kind of fell asleep for the entire length of the six hour plane ride. I hadn't actually gotten great sleep the night before, over thinking everything, but Marco didn't seem to mind and he never tried to jolt me awake.

            When my eyes finally fluttered as we neared New York, I noticed my head rested gently on Marco's shoulder. The first thing that came to my mind was that I hoped that I had not drooled, but wiping at my mouth, I was relieved to find that I had not. Marco mentioned again, as if he were afraid that I was going to forget and be freaked out or something, that he didn't move me because the position would prove to be good publicity for him. I shrugged. It wasn't like I cared either way. He made a pretty good pillow. I think he was paranoid about what I thought about having to be at _his_ side, but part of my luck _was_ that he was who he was. I mean, I can't even imagine going home with some of the other customers I've had. Even if they _were_ loaded. Gross, sloppy, handsy, perverted slimeballs, most of them. Marco was just a different breed of customer, which is why he generally went to Suede in the first place. If I were to be comfortable with _any_ customer being handsy, it would be Marco, in all honesty. And yet, here he was, apologizing for grabbing my hand and for not moving my head, when he had already spent more than I had made in my entire career on me. Go figure.

            Landing and getting off the plane was all kind of a blur as I was still in that disillusioned state of waking up after a long travel nap when your mind is slow and your legs are kind of slower. I let Marco hold my hand for an even longer time, traversing the airport, but part of me needed him to hold on to me so that I kept shuffling my sleeping feet along without getting lost.

            I was awake enough to realize that we did not collect our baggage, but later saw that we were greeted with a chauffeur who already had our bags by his side and held up a sign that read 'Mr. Bodt.' Yet another thing that I thought only happened in movies, but I tried to hide my surprise as I followed Marco to him and outside to a shiny black car with tinted windows. Before I could even take in the city that was New York, we were pulling up to the curb and my door was opened for me - something I had only experienced once, because the restaurant I had gone to before prom had a valet. I looked up to where we had pulled up to  - the Ritz-Carlton. Well, shit. He couldn't even give me a break and pick like, a Hilton or something. I wasn't going to complain now, though.

            I followed him in as another door opened for us, and tried not to gasp at the lobby. I didn't know what the White House interior looked like, but it had to be close to this. It was more immaculate than Marco's house. More white and showy, rather than a warm, cozy kind of luxury.

            Marco went straight to the reception desk like he had been there before (and probably had), and I followed immediately behind. Even in my new clothes, dragging a suitcase, and having my hair combed, I felt out of place if I wasn't by my benefactor's side. I slid my tongue over my lip ring. Right. Maybe that was it. But I told Marco that unless we were headed to a very formal event, I wasn't taking it out. I wasn't going to me, but I still had to be _me._ I was suddenly hyper-aware of the tattoo on my hipbone.

            Marco had checked us into our room, and the receptionist seemed to recognize him, but said nothing to me. She wasn't ignoring me the way the girls on Rodeo Drive had - she knew that I was a VIP in this case - but wasn't making a fuss over me out of respect. I appreciated it.

            As we approached the elevator, I noticed a couple (were the a couple?) huddled and chatting excitedly over a sketchbook on one of the lobby sofas. Just by their hair and close proximity, I was able to recognize them as Connie and Sasha, the designers behind Sweet Potatoes.

            "Sasha! Connie!" Marco shouted out to them as though they were old friends. Maybe they were.

            The pair looked up instantly and simultaneously.

            "Well, well, if it isn't Marco Bodt!" greeting Connie, the male with a shaved head. And interesting hair choice for a designer, I thought, but they were the unconventional designers, so maybe it didn't mean anything. He shook hands with Marco, but it came across as a far friendlier gesture than a generic business handshake. I decided that the three were actually good acquaintances and not just people in the same industry. I recalled that they were based in LA as well.

            "Who's this, new boyfriend?" ask Sasha, nodding to me. She had folded the sketchbook and tucked it under her arm, now standing next to Connie. Marco opened his mouth to answer, but I decided to get ahead of him and I opened mine instead.

            "That's right! Jean Kirschtein, nice to meet you, I've heard a lot. I enjoy your work," I said, shaking hands with them both. I had debated adding the last line, but I figured these two were fairly laid back and that it would go over well. Besides, I wasn't a designer anyway, so I guess it kind of was okay. I couldn't imagine designers, like Mikasa and Annie, complimenting any other designer in such a way, though.

            "Ooh, who is he?" Sasha asked. She wasn't saying it like she was pretending I couldn't hear, but more to tease Marco. She seemed like that kind of mischievous soul. "Is he a new model of yours?"

            She spared me a playful wink, and then I remembered that models had to be fit and attractive, so she probably recognized me as such. I felt the pride that I had lost the night before seeping back.

            Marco looked to Sasha and then flicked his head to me.

            "Yeah, he is, actually. I just couldn't stay away from him. Best model I've had, I must say. Cute, isn't he?"

            Hold on.

            "He _is_ ," Sasha replied, and I thought I could sense a wordless exchange go on between her and her partner. "Well, I can't wait to see you on the runway, then! See you guys later!"

            Wait, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing much to say other than Jean is a fun mind to get into.
> 
> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [X](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	4. Ritz

_If you're blue and you don't know where to go to_  
 _Why don't you go where fashion sits,_  
 _Puttin' on the ritz._

-Ritz, Fred Astaire

* * *

 

 

             Sasha and Connie went back to their sketches and I turned on my heel to get in the elevator. I didn't even look at Jean, but a secret smile started to grow on my lips as I felt his eyes bore into me from behind.

            The elevator doors shut and I closed my eyes, waiting for what I knew was going to come. The smile never left my lips. 5, 4, 3, 2...

            "What the _hell_?"

            Yup. There is was.

            "What?" I asked innocently. I finally turned to look at him. Despite his confused, displeased expression, mine did not falter.

            "You know what!"

            I shrugged, and I could almost feel his hatred towards my "so what?" attitude.

            "I'm not a model! You brought me here as escort, not as an employee!"

            "Well, _technically_ , it's the same thing..."

            "You know what I mean!" he yelled back to me.

            "Alright, yeah, fine...," I was forced to give up. "It just seemed like a good opportunity to pick up on. I can't say I hadn't thought about it at all before. I mean...you have the body. You have the attitude."

            Jean seemed to soften slightly as though he were going to take it as a compliment, but he retained a certain amount of stiffness. "As much as I appreciate your taking notice of my body, I feel the need to remind you that _I am not a model._ "

            I sighed and rubbed at my temples. We were nearing our floor.

            "Look," I said. "It really isn't _that_ hard of a task, I'm sure. You don't need to be perfect. You already have the hardest parts down, you know what with the whole looks and personality thing." I figured it could only work in my favor to continue throwing the compliments at him. That is, if he took that as a compliment. I figured I would take my chances. "I'll get some of my other guys to coach you on walking in secret, and until then...well, just keep acting like you. It's a pretty believable image."

            He ran a hand through the front part of his hair which immediately flopped back down onto his forehead. Yeah, he was going to be perfect. _I_ personally had no worries. The worst that could happen, as far as his actual modeling career was concerned, was that he could fall on his ass. Considering the fact that he had the graceful movement and balance of an exotic dancer (and I wonder where he picked _that_ up from?), as well as the fact that the models that usually fell were women with risky heels, I was sure that he would be just fine.

            "Do I get to keep the clothes?" was his final retort.

            "Naturally."

            "...Fine, I'll be your fucking model."

            Well. Good thing _that_ was taken care of. Not that I was planning on giving him a choice. Sasha and Connie had been the first to hear of Jean being my "model," and I would be surprised if the whole fashion industry didn't know by the time we reached our floor.

            Which we did, finally. The elevator stopped at the seventh floor, which was a cozy in between for us, and not as conspicuous as something like the penthouse. Jean followed me to our room, midhall, and the magic of being met there by our luggage seemed to erase his negative thoughts about becoming my employee twice over.

            " _God damn,_ " he whispered as we entered the room. I suppose it was pretty nice. A lot of white with a fairly pretty view of the city outside through sheer curtains. We even had a little dining table and fire place. Nothing I wasn't used to in a hotel by this point, but I recognized what would get Jean's attention.

            "Wait, wait. What the fuck is this?"

            "What?" I replied. He was just standing in the middle of the room, and it didn't look as though he was referencing anything in particular. Everything seemed to be in order so I couldn't imagine what he would be so up in arms about.

            "This...lack of a second bed!"

            I looked around. Right. One bed. "Well...we have one room. One room, one bed."

            "Um, no, I _distinctly_ remember having rooms as a kid where there was more than one bed."

            "Well...those were the family suites. We aren't a family, so...no family suite."

            He groaned, evidently displeased with the arrangement. It was upsetting, really. I mean...right, okay, I said it before. I had hired him to be my escort. My _public_ escort. And now he _was_. Highly paid escort posing as my boyfriend _and_ a model (which I suppose I was going to have to pay him extra for now). And that was all he was supposed to be, and that was all I was paying him for. We had both established that he was not a prostitute, obviously, and I got the, admittedly disappointed, feeling that we were not going to be having any sort of romantic relationship behind closed doors. I mean, right? Otherwise, why not just crawl into bed with me? I was cute enough, wasn't? I'm like...bonus payment. Who doesn't want an employer who can double as a teddy bear? Or...something kinkier than a teddy bear, I don't know. Maybe he has a thing against freckles.

            "Whatever," he said, throwing his hands up. He seemed to be _very_ disgusted with that bed. "I'm sleeping on the sofa."

            "You sure...?" I asked, knowing he wasn't going to be fought with. I knew he wouldn't have traded me for the bed, either. He just seemed to be that sort of proud person. Which was kind of a relief for me, anything. I'm taller, and from the looks of it, I would not have fit on the sofa. Jean was barely going to as it was.

            "Yeah. It's fine, I had to sleep on the arm chairs in the motels on family vacations anyway. This loveseat is nicer than my actual bed at home, to be honest."

            _Loveseat_. That seat was loveless, I can tell you that much right now.

            "Actually, I think I'm just going to sleep right now."

            "Really? You slept on the plane for _six hours_."

            He shrugged. "Yeah. I like sleep. I'm tired. Travelling makes me tired."

            He started unpacking his bags lightly, removing just his new pajamas and toiletries. He went into the bathroom to change, and I guess it was something I shouldn't have been entirely surprised about, but...he was a stripper. I had had him more or less naked on my lap the night of our first meeting. The fact that he closed and locked the door in order to change and brush his teeth was...strange to me. In fact, I was sure he was the type to _want_ to change in front of me, simply to show off his body and tease me.  Oh, well. I had a lot to learn, I guess. But then again, so did he.

            I figured I would crawl into bed as well, and I was already settled in, leaning against the headboard and flipping through a magazine when Jean finally emerged from the bathroom. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, concentrating on the carpet as he tongued his lip ring.

            "You know," I said, flipping a page, "It's probably good that you're sleeping kind of early. We have a thing in the morning."

            He finally looked up, about to reply, and his initial dazed expression turned into one of confusion. The confusion I expected, but what he ended up saying was completely unrelated.

            "You wear glasses?"

            I pushed the ones I was wearing up the bridge of my nose, taken aback by how off topic his reply was. "For reading, yeah. Why?"

            He stared for a while, eyebrows knitting together, until he finally shook his head and waved his hand, as though he were swatting the topic out of the air.

            "No reason, forget about it. So...what is it that we're doing, exactly?"

            I cleared my throat and set the magazine aside for a moment. "It's...like a brunch. Kind of to kick the week off."

            "And we have to be there?"

            "Well, obviously. I didn't bring you here so we could stay in the hotel room all week and jack off."

            He shrugged in reply, turning slightly pink, before asking what time we had to be up and out.

            "Mm, the event starts at eight in the morning."

            If he had been drinking anything at that moment, he would have spit it out right then and there. The face he made was kind of perfect actually, a kind of sputtering thing.

            " _Fuck_ , you want me to wake up at, what, seven?"

            I shrugged. However long it took for him to get ready. "Unless, that is, you want to shower in the morning..."

            "Goddamn, I'm going to sleep."

            "Goodnight, Jean," I said simply, turning on my bedside lamp to read as Jean turned off the main light. He provided a lazy _hmph_ in reply, grabbed a blanket, and dragged it behind him to the sofa. He flopped on and billowed the blanket up and over him, and I couldn't help but watch. By the little light of my lamp, I saw his silhouette, bucking around and trying to adjust, the arch of his back outlined perfectly in black, sweeping down and then back up around the curve of his -

            God dammit.

* * *

 

            Jean still ended up awake before me, believe it or not. The sun broke through the crack between the curtains and jostled me awake as it warmed my face, and it took me a moment to notice the empty sofa, hear the shower faucet, and connect the dots.

            By the time I had rolled myself out of the bed, Jean had stopped in the shower. He came out, clothes already on (and, again, I took special note of how he changed behind closed doors), and I mumbled a greeting as I stumbled in to take a quick shower of my own. I believe he grunted a greeting in return, and it wasn't like we weren't being amiable or anything. It just turned out that neither one of us was really a morning person. Then again, I guess no one's a real morning person before eight. Except, like...farmers.

            I came out after dressing in the bathroom myself. After all, if he was going to play whatever hiding and teasing game this was with me, then so was I.

            I emerged to a smell so perfect that it made the hair on my arms stand on end. "Someone found the coffee machine," I said, reveling in the bitter aroma. I was one of the few people I knew who could actually enjoy coffee just for the taste of it. A rare tongue for bitterness, I suppose. "You look nice."

            I took the opportunity to look at Jean because, to be perfectly honest, God knows I was not awake enough to watch him come out of the bathroom that earlier. He could have been Orlando Bloom and I wouldn't have given a single fuck before a shower and coffee.

            He was wearing one of the nicer blue button-ups with black slacks, and the way he leaned against the table with the coffee maker gave him the appearance of a business man in the break room. A rich, well-dressed business man. With a lip ring. So...it was kind of perfect, really. He fit the edgy model look we were going for. With his hair still damp and actually combed into place, he was looking quite the part.

            He looked me over once, rather quickly, and nodded. "Thanks. Yeah, you too." He added creamer and two spoons of sugar to his coffee and swirled it until it was a satisfactory hazelnut color before sipping at it. I smirked, appreciating our taste differences. I poured myself a cup, ignoring the leftover creamers that Jean had set aside for me, and drank it. I could almost feel myself purring.

            "You drink that shit straight like that?" he asked, an eyebrow quirked. I shrugged, smiled, and drank again. He made a sort of disgusted face and continued drinking from his doctored mix.

            I pushed back my sleeve to check my watch and noticed that it was actually quite a bit later than I was expecting it to be. I downed the remainder of my coffee, and I must have looked a bit frantic because Jean did the same and tousled his, now more dry, hair. I grabbed my sports jacket and he followed suite and we scrambled out the door without a word.

            Once we were in the elevator, I checked my watch again and showed Jean as well, both of us forgetting that he had a newly bought watch on his own wrist.

            "If we get a cab quickly, we can make it in time," I told him.

            "Didn't you say this was going to be a brunch? Why are we having brunch at eight in the morning? Isn't that more of an...eleven thing?"

            "It is a brunch," I replied. I agreed with him, but I was not going to mention that. "We have to have mingling time. I don't think we actually get served food until, like...ten."

            I could almost  hear Jean's eyes rolling at me, but he didn't say a word. We exited the elevator, made it out on the street, and got our cab all without speaking. However, the very moment that we set foot outside the hotel, our hands were in each others. Despite his odd, rather avoidant behavior behind doors, he knew how to work it when we were in the public eye. Really, he was doing perfectly. Confusion over his general behavior aside, he was actually doing a much better job than I had expected him to. I sighed, looking out the window, hoping that his interaction with humans besides myself would be as adequate.

* * *

 

            "...Another hotel?"

            I looked at Jean and shrugged. "Well, yeah. Where else would they have the thing?"

            "At least could have had it at _our_ hotel," he grumbled. We were let out of our car and we were directed to where the brunch would be held. "What exactly is this again?"

            "It's just a kick off, really. A time to mingle and greet each other before the runway shows actually happen. It's probably perfect for you, actually. I'll introduce you to some of the people we went over in the book, although, of course, you'll probably be sticking to interaction with other models and interns. And there are two very important models of mine I need you to meet. They should be here as well."

            Jean looked at me with an eyebrow cocked.

            "What? You aren't my only model, obviously. You're just the one I like to keep around." I gave him a wink to remind him that his job was ongoing and he gave me a single nod. "They're just two of my more experienced models that I always work with, no matter who else switches in or out of my line up. I'll let them know that you haven't done runway for long -"

            "I haven't done runway at all!"

            I stopped and gave him a look, eyebrows raised, before continuing. "I'll let them know you haven't done runway _for long_ and that you started behind the camera. They'll be happy to give you performance and walking pointers without thinking I'm letting a complete amateur on my catwalk."

            "...But you _are_ letting a complete amateur on your catwalk."

            I rubbed my temples. " _Yes_ , but _they_ don't know that." I couldn't tell if he was just playing with me, or if he actually thought I was being that dumb. He was so blunt about everything.

            "Yeah, yeah, I know, fine, whatever."

            "Just act like you've done this kind of thing before. I mean, you have, really. Shown off your body."

            He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got it, I'll be cool."

            "Good. Now let's get through today and we'll see how it goes."

            We followed signs and directors until we made it to one of those ballroom style rooms that big hotels have. It was filled with dozens of round tables and chairs, but hardly anyone was sitting down. It was evident that not everyone was present - just a good handful of the most popular designers, some of their entourages, and a scattering of models. The models often had events of their own, and considering their strict diets, didn't have much reason to attend a huge brunch anyway. Still, there were a few - particularly those who worked with their designers consistently. Some designers just went with whichever models they were given for a particular show, building no connection. I liked to know mine, personally. If I'm being perfectly honest, Jean's not the first of my models I've had a fling with.

            Gazing around the room, I could pick out a few faces that Jean would recognize. Sasha and Connie were chattering in the corner of the room, closer to the currently empty buffet table than anyone else. They had seen us walk in the room and Sasha winked, but they didn't move. They were probably scoping out everyone, because honestly, they were probably the best gossips in the industry. I'd be willing to bet that a lot of magazines got their news from those two. Meaning everyone in the room definitely probably knew Jean already.

            I also eyed Ymir in one of her signature suits chatting with Christa who seemed to be the only one of the Victoria's Secret Angels in the room. It was to be expected. Christa was there for Ymir, not the event.

            Next to catch my eye (and I probably should have looked for him first) was Levi. He lingered on the far other side of the room, and no one seemed to be getting too close to him besides Erwin, who stood by his side chatting, and the two interns, Armin and Eren, talking to each other nearby, but not venturing more than a foot and a half away from their bosses.

            "Come on, we'd be insane not to greet them first. They're the royalty of this place," I told Jean, grabbing his hand. He didn't even have to ask who I was talking about. He followed me to the group of them, standing there like they really _were_ royalty, expecting their subjects to come pay their visits. In it a way, it was pretty obnoxious, but they had climbed to the top, so they did kind of have a right to be better than everyone else.

            Levi was drenched in head to toe black. Over his pants and long sleeved shirt, he wore a poncho-like shawl. It was draped in such a way that I had a hard time finding his hands. His arms must have been crossed in the fabric there somewhere. It was hard to tell where one fabric stopped and there the next started.

            Levi's intern Eren noticed us approaching first and tapped his boss's shoulder, who had still been talking to Erwin. He turned almost instantly and took notice of us. Despite his infamous cold attitude, he recognized me instantly and offered a hand out to me.

            "Marco Bodt. Good to see you again," he said as the corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't a smirk, and it definitely wasn't a smile, but it was...something.

            "Likewise," I said with a nod. "And you, Mr. Smith."

            "A pleasure," Erwin replied with a genuinely warm smile.

            With that over with, they turned almost instantly to Jean and I knew that, although they didn't recognize him, they were trying to. Like royalty, they were expected to know their subjects. Unfortunately for them, they didn't realize that Jean was a foreigner in their kingdom. I could see Levi's pupils dilate and his lips pursed slightly. He was getting upset that he couldn't recall this face and he felt as though he was being made a fool of. This was a face I had seen before. It was a face we all had seen before. He always displayed it at shows he was particularly unimpressed with. People took notice of this deadly expression. Photographers watched Levi alone during a fashion show. The success of a show was often determined solely on Levi's facial expression, assuming he was present.

            Just in time, Armin stepped forward, brushing hair behind his ear. "And you're Jean, Mr. Bodt's newest model, correct?"

            "Model _and_ boyfriend," Eren said quietly. I couldn't tell if that was meant to be a snotty remark, or just a reminder for everyone. Either way, Levi's expression seemed to be returning to normal and Erwin's shoulders relaxed. There was a reason I had had Jean study the binder so closely. Everybody knew everybody, and if you fucked up and missed a name drop or couldn't recognize someone, your validation instantly fell. Eren and Armin must have studied just as extensively, and to be able to recognize Jean, they had to have double checked with everyone to see if there was going to be any unexpected company. They had to have talked to Sasha and Connie, which was wise of them seeing as those two always somehow knew everything about everybody. They had to know even more, probably, seeing as Erwin and Levi were at the top. If they didn't know someone, it reflected _really_ badly on them and therefore needed the interns to back them up.

            I talked to Erwin and Levi briefly about the upcoming week and the shows and what they were expecting from everybody. They had bets going on over Mikasa and Annie and who would have a better showing (Levi's money was on Mikasa, showing up with flawless and beautiful craftsmanship, whereas Erwin was sure Annie would steal the show with the bold colors and angles of the season).  I told them briefly about my collections I was showing - two men's and a woman's, which I didn't normally do, and Erwin at the very least seemed eager to see them all. I have to say I was eager for him to see as well. If I got a feature in his magazine, I would more or less be set, career-wise, for a satisfyingly long period of time.

            Throughout our conversation, Jean continued chatting with the interns, as I had supposed would be the case. They seemed to be talking very animatedly about... _something_ , but it was good to see he was hitting it off with them either way. Personally, I had expected him to be a little annoyed about having to be in  the that circle, but judging from his expression, he really didn't mind.

            I nodded off to Erwin and Levi who, of course, had to greet other subjects, but I left Jean talking to Eren and Armin. I caught my escort's eye and he gave me a nod, so I let him be for a moment's time, while his new found friends did not have to be at their boss' sides.

            I was interested to just watch those three for a while. Now and then, Eren would start to rise up on his toes and his eyes would grow wider in his passionate style, and I could tell from his face that Jean was making those snide remarks. I had only known him for a few days, really, but I had been around him long enough to know those remarks and facial expressions. I mean, they were pretty common with him to be fair.

            At first I was worried that he and Eren would not get along at all. I had pictured the personalities in my mind beforehand and I knew it had the potential to get heated. It all seemed to be okay though. The conversation _was_ passionate, I could tell, but they seemed to be getting along none the less. Now and again, when Eren would rise too far up onto his toes, Armin grabbed at his shoulder or hand and pulled him back down, and the conversation would take its natural course again. Still, I was only too curious to know what it was they were talking about. Whatever it was, it definitely did not look like fashion. It was so funny to me that the three of them could hit it off so quickly and get so enraptured in a conversation that seemed to have very little to do with the industry.

            I watched them until Mikasa showed up to greet her friends, and Jean shook her hand as well. I made a mental note to ask him about meeting her, as well as what he spoke to the interns about, but until then, I turned away to mingle further. Spotting Ymir and Christa again, as well as Annie, who had joined them, I headed towards them in hopes that I could kill two birds with one stone, in making my rounds and in finding my other models.

            "Marco! My man!" Ymir quite literally flung herself towards me. Don't ask me how we become so close, but in all honesty, she was one of my closer friends in the fashion circle. During one of my first fashion weeks she just spotted me, claiming to be a great fan of my work (both men's _and_ women's lines) and she determined that we would take over the entire industry because we had the most freckles, and that gave us priority or something silly like that. I don't know. I think our friendship works though. She's so extreme and brash, and it really clashes with a lot of people. I image she might argue easily with Jean, and she often clashed with Connie, which was always crazy to me since he just seemed to get along with everyone, but I really had no problem with her. Maybe because she had decided so far ahead of time that we we're destined to be best freckled friends.

             We're adults, I swear.

            I greeted her with a warm hug, as well as Christa, who, unlike her girlfriend, got along with _everybody_. Even the models I was looking for admitted that, if they were to go for a girl, she would be ideal. I mean not that they ever would, because of the gay thing. And the Ymir-would-beat-their-asses thing. But, like, hypothetically.

             Annie gave me a nod as well, which I returned. Not that we weren't close enough for a hug. She just wasn't that sort of touchy-feely kind. I respected that.

            "So, we hear you got a new boo-thang," Ymir said with a wink. Christa seemed like she wanted to nudge Ymir, as she did normally when the designer went too far with a comment, but she suppressed herself and actually giggled a bit. Annie's eyebrows rose as well - not quite out of surprise, because she clearly had already heard the news as well. It was more like her own way of asking for my confirmation. I turned my head to where I had left Jean, and he was still chatting animatedly with the interns. Mikasa still lingered there as well, and had a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. My curiosity over their conversation rose and I decided for sure to question Jean about it in the hotel room later.

            I turned back to the girls. "Mm, yeah...about that, actually...have you three seen Bertholdt and Reiner anywhere? They told me they were coming over. I have some things to go over with them concerning the show."

            "Oh, right, your new boyfriend...he's one of your models, too, right?" Christa asked with a head tilt. Seriously, news got around _fast_. Although, to be honest, I was not in the least bit fazed by that, either. Even if Jean _wasn't_ my...um..."boyfriend," they all would have heard about my new model in no time. New meat was generally taken very seriously in the circuit. I mean, when Levi and Erwin hired Eren and Armin at about the same time, everyone went _nuts_ and all eyes were on them. I suppose that's a bit of a different circumstance, and I'm obviously not as big of a deal as either of them, but a new model is a new model is a new model. Adding a relationship to the mix just makes it more fun. I figure by doing this, I'm also adding some real entertainment to fashion week. We need something to talk about other than hemlines and fabric choices now and then.

            "He is...," I replied to Christa finally. "Which is why I need my boys. I need them to give him the run down on everything. We haven't exactly gone through the show altogether. As it is, Jean's a little new to the catwalk side of things. He's mostly done photography."

            Christa nodded in understanding. Ymir looked like she didn't give a half a shit about Jean's career. Probably because she didn't. She examined her nails instead.

            "I saw them in the hall when I went to the powder room," Annie said. She was quite close to the two - Annie and Reiner were cousins, actually. Annie's the one who got Reiner in the industry, where we eventually met. By the time he got to me, he had already met Bert through modeling, and when I hired Reiner, he insisted Bert be hired as well. The rest is history. Those two have been my models longer than any others I've had, and if it weren't for them being mediators, I probably would not be as good of friends with Annie as I am now. Not that we're _best_ friends or anything. But she talks to me, and if you knew her, you would realize how much that says.

            "I don't know what the hell they were doing, playing patty-cake or something, God knows with them, but they said they were heading in before the food would be served...Oh. There they are now."

            I turned to look in the direction of the door where the models walked in. "Perfect. Well, I'm going to go grab them, and I'll catch up with you guys later, yeah?"

            Ymir grabbed me by the shoulder and ruffled my hair, which she did often, and it made me glad that my hair was short enough that it hardly made a difference. "See you 'round, freckle-friend," she said in her teasing voice. Christa giggled and waved a hand towards me and I went to the door.

            "Marco!" Reiner waved to me from the door before I could even tell him anything. He and Bertholdt were matching - the same black whites, white shirts, and blue ties. They often matched, I don't know, it was like their thing. They were the fab duo. That's just how it was. It was funny though, with them looking so genetically different, Reiner being just a bit shorter with a completely Aryan look - from his coloring to his brawn - and Bert having a darker coloring all around, often in Reiner's more boisterous shadow. I loved it though, and they made the perfect pair. Something about their differences balanced nicely, but when they were together and on the catwalk, it gave my shows a diversity that still flowed really well.

            I hugged my boys, having not seen them for some time. We had had a lot of down time before Fashion Week in order for me to get everything prepared and organized and they had gone on vacation in the meantime. This was our first time meeting up since then. Despite the fact that they were employees, I can probably say in all honesty that they were the closest I had to real best friends.

            "I hate to bring business up so quickly, guys, but we can catch up in a bit, and you know I'm dying to hear all about the vacation. I just had something come up last minute, and I have a _little_ extra work for you guys."

            "The new meat?" Reiner asked, flashing a smile.

            "What? Um, yeah, actually, it has to do with that."

            "We heard from Annie," Bertholdt explained.

            "Right, right, of course," I replied. Set my surprise meter to negative fifty. I assumed they knew about the whole boyfriend thing, too, or whatever. You'd think I'd at least be the one to tell them first, but Lord, this industry is worse than high school, I swear.

            "So how'd you two meet?" Reiner taunted. Yes, they definitely knew.

            "Erm...we'll talk about that in a more private setting," I replied, even though no one was around. Really, I just needed to think of a meeting story that didn't start in a cheap-ass strip club. "Just come with me."

            They followed me, still fairly excited about meeting Jean it seemed, to the group he was still talking with.

            "Excuse me, guys, would you mind if I stole Jean for a moment?"

            "Oh! No problem!" Armin said as Jean looked up to me, and I could see his eyes follow to the models behind me.

            "I'll catch up with you guys later on," Jean said with a nod. "Nice to meet you!"

            He waved to them and followed us back to the corner of the room I had just been  in.

            "You all seemed to hit it off pretty well," I spoke lowly to him. He shrugged.       

            "Yeah, well, they had interesting stuff to say, I suppose. They know a lot."

            "About...?"

            He just shrugged again. I guessed he would tell me later, then. It seemed more like it was too much to tell me at that moment than the simple fact that he didn't _want_ to tell me.

            "So, guys, this is Jean. Other than the fact that we are currently dating, he _is_ a new model in the lineup, as you already know."

            The boys each shook hands with Jean, and he seemed fairly pleased to meet them as well. I had a strong feeling that they were going to get along well, also.

            "Now, Jean is not totally new to the industry. He's done work, but he hasn't cat walked very often, and obviously has never cat walked for me." At this, Reiner whistled low, but I continued. "He's had experience in various fields. It's just this particular kind of modeling he's new with. So what I need you to do, since you'll have a bit of free time between shows, is just help him get the hang of walking counts and rotations and everything. Shouldn't be too hard. He's pretty much a natural in every other way. Just make sure he knows when to come out, when to turn...Well, you both know better than I do."

            Bert nodded, seemingly quite happy and willing to take on the task. Reiner looked up to him and back to Jean and then shook his hand firmly. "We're going to have a fantastic time together," he said with a wink.

            A wink. A fucking wink.

            Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that took way longer than expected to get out. Real life has destroyed me these past few weeks.
> 
> That being said, I'm so glad the rest of the characters have been introduced! Should be all fun and games from here.
> 
> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [X](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	5. Pose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

_I wouldn't test you, I'm not the best you could have attained_   
_Why try anything?_   
_I will get there, just remember I know_   
  
_And I can tell just what you want_   
_You don't want to be alone_   
_You don't want to be alone_

\- What You Know, Two Door Cinema Club

* * *

 

            Alright, I have to say, so far, this gig isn't as bad as I was thinking it was going to be. Of course, at the time of the brunch we went to, I had done nothing related to modeling yet whatsoever, but as time went on there, I started to learn that everyone was extremely intertwined. I mean, even more so than I had started to believe when Marco walked me through the binder. The crossing over relationships...I mean, damn, it was like high school again.

            And I love it. I love knowing people and how they're related and who thinks what of who and why. Maybe I'm not the most _personal_ of guys, but I do like peoples' personal relationships with one another.

            So after all, it turns out that the modeling and fashion industry is way more incestuous and gossipy that the adult entertainment industry. I mean...who knew? So _that_ whole side of the deal was going pretty great.

            The _escort_ side of my job...well, let's just say that _that_ one is fucking me over a bit. See, I'm trying to be strictly business here. I'm playing with the big boys. I'm getting paid like a real professional here.

            That being said, I can't exactly stay professional if I'm popping a boner every time my benefactor _breaths_. I mean, it's not my fault, okay? An extremely attractive wealthy man buys me shit and has me in his hotel at nights...my body is expecting things to take their natural course. And yet there I am, sleeping on the sofa like a loser house guest. He told me it would be fine to sleep with him in the bed, just being civil man that he is, and I turned him down because I didn't think I could keep myself together. Turns out I couldn't either way. I had to get dressed behind the locked bathroom door. He probably thinks I'm just being a freak. Or a tease. I don't know. Well, hate to break it to you, Mr. Bodt, but I'm just hiding bodily functions. Because I'm a _professional._ But I'll be damned if he doesn't catch an eyeful every now and then. He seemed so insistent about me sleeping in the bed with him but...I don't know, one of us probably wouldn't have been able to control ourselves, it probably would have been me, and he would have given in, and that probably would have made him wake up feeling guilty, and then he would have probably tried to pay me more, and _that_ would have been bad, because suddenly escort Jean would have become prostitute Jean.

            But...what if it _wasn't_ escort Jean, like...sleeping with him? What if it was real, lives in a shitty house, babysits his nieces, eats cereal for dinner, cheap stripper Jean? What if it was the real me instead of the hired me?

            Well, then, that would be a different matter, now wouldn't it be?  But you see, I can't imagine how that could happen. Because how often does Marco even see _me_? Hardly ever, really. Outside, I'm always escort-model-Jean. Even if I tried to be completely my own self, he would assume I was faking it. And behind closed doors, I have to distance myself to hide my  twelve-year-old girl pink cheeks and my sixteen-year-old boy boners. Besides that, we're only really in the hotel in the early morning when I could kill a man before my coffee, and late at night when we're both reeling and tired from a long day at work. Unfortunately, I spend 24 hours a day with the real Marco, but he spends maybe 5 with the real Jean. At least, that he's aware of. Like I said, I could totally be myself out there, and he would see it as part of an act. I don't know, maybe it's better for both of us that he doesn't have to be around the "real me," but that also significantly lowers the chances of him sleeping with me and _not_ feeling like he has to give me a tip after it's all said and done. I mean, not that those are my _only_ intentions. Maybe a legit date would be cool too, I don't know. An honest to goodness boyfriend wouldn't be too awful of an idea. And I'm not just saying that because the prospect could easily be a really awesome sugar daddy. Not that he kind of isn't being one already. I am technically _working_ for the money, but come on - how hard is this all _really?_

            So that's the real struggle with this job, honestly. Like I said though, the whole inner workings part is extremely interesting. It's both getting my mind off of things, _and_ giving me ideas as to how to work with my problem.

            You see, before walking into brunch, I was in a piss poor mood. It was no one's fault, really. Not Marco's, not the doorman's...that's just how I am before 11 am every day, coffee in my system or not. I don't wanna go anywhere or see anyone before 11. One good reason I have such a night job. Skitzo doesn't even _consider_ opening its doors before 9 pm. But let me tell you, I walked into that room filled with fashion designers and models and perked up _instantly_. Have you ever had that feeling when you walk onto a high school campus, and you can just, like, _feel_ the drama and the gossip and the sexual tension everywhere? And it's like, ten times better because you aren't necessarily involved but get to take part anyway? It was like that, but amplified. I know that would make some people want to run for the hills, but God, I ate it up. Call me the ultimate wallflower, fly on the wall, people watcher, whatever you will. This kind of thing gives me life. I can see peoples' relationships with each other by the way they talk or interact or look at each other from across a room. I can seek this stuff out like a shark can with blood - a single drop in an ocean, yards away.

            That being said, I thought I was the only shark in the room. Everyone else was a swimmer. Each one left a little droplet of blood for me to sniff out - their secrets and personal relationships. And they're tiny droplets. Swimmers don't always notice those tiny droplets. They don't see them, or I suppose smell them in the case of this metaphor. No one does but the shark. All these people had dirt on each other, secrets, hidden affairs that no one else was supposed to know about. And no one could tell except for the shark. This girl didn't know that this man was talking behind her back. But he was. I could see it. This man thinks no one knows that, two nights ago, he had sex with _that_ man sitting next to him. But I know. And I walked into that room, an ocean full of seemingly innocent swimmers, unaware of the shark that was watching them bleed with every false smile and whispered rumor.

             And I thought I was the only shark in the room. I had no _real_ secrets, other than the fact that I didn't belong there, but that was Marco's secret more than mine really. I couldn't detect that anyone else was kind of on the outside looking eagerly in, like I was.

            But I was mistaken. There were two other sharks in the room that I didn't notice right away. Shame on me. In my defense, they had been quite hidden in the corner.

            You see, Eren and Armin were in the same boat as me, so to speak. Of course, they had their secrets as well, because who doesn't, but they were still like me - _technically_ in the industry, but not participating the same way the big time designers and models were. If anything, the two were glorified coffee boys. Because of this, they were given free rein to spy and speculate on everyone's lives from the best seat in the house without having to get _too_ involved and in the spotlight. It was fantastic. That being said, they were a gold mine of information. Therefore, I was perfectly content to stick to them while Marco went off and did his own thing. I mean, it made me look like I was in my part well enough, didn't it? Like Marco had said, if this was _really_ who I was, Armin and Eren would be the ones I would hang around the most anyway. It was perfect.

            In the time I was with them, the interns gave me the lowdown on everyone and everything they knew. They could tell I was eating it up, too. It was like they had been dying to let all this out, and finally they had me. What made it even better was that they were especially close with their bosses, obviously, as well as that one designer, Mikasa, who had been raised with Eren. Thanks to their connections, they knew _all kinds_ of stuff. It was fascinating. Even based on what they told me, I could tell who had slept with who. That one's a special gift. Like a parlor trick. It's like a perk of being in adult entertainment, being able to tell who'd done the do with who. I don't think those two could have done that, and it gave me a strange feeling of pride.

            Just because he was kind of one of those guys that were easy to fuck with and because I had this kind of special sense, I asked Eren offhand how the great designer Levi was in bed.

            "Fuck off," he sneered at me, but he still turned red. As did Armin. Great, so I was right - not just about Eren and Levi, but about the fact that Armin didn't know. And he seemed almost bothered by it. In that instant, I deduced that the interns had slept with each other as well, but I didn't bring that one up. For good measure, Eren added an extra "fuck you." Whatever, he was still a pretty cool dude. Just easy to get riled up. I had those kind of friends in high school - the kind that are sorta douchey and you can't remember how you became friends with them (or stayed friends with them for that matter), but you stick around them anyway. I dunno, they're kinda great in their own way. Especially when they come with someone who's prepared to keep them in check, like Armin.

            All things considered, I should have expected the next part of the conversation.

            "Well, what about Marco Bodt?" Eren asked cheekily. He was obviously  trying to divert the attention away from himself, but he and Armin were both definitely still interested for the sake of their own curiosity. "He never seems to have any long term boyfriends, and we can never tell who he's slept with, if he even _has_ , so we never get to ask. At this point, he's kind of like an enigma. We never get to ask anyone about him."

            I shrugged. "Yeah, he's kind of like a hermit loser that way," I said jokingly, but lovingly. That's something a boyfriend would have said, right? Right. Yeah. Totally.

            "So we figured," Armin laughed.

            "You're avoiding the question though," Eren said. He was serious. Determined, even. "How is he?"

            Well...fuck. That was a minor detail I had forgotten. While all these people were having secret sex, everyone assumed Marco and I were having not-secret sex. I guess that's kind of part of the relationship thing. God, we were one of the only couples in the room having sex that everyone knew about, and we weren't even _actually_ having sex. Hey, not my fault. Entirely.

            I winked. "Who do you think I am? I don't kiss and tell."

            Eren groaned, and I knew he would have kept on, but Mikasa joined, and I was able to get off by meeting her rather than answering the question. I winked. I flashed a smile. I flirted. She was easy to flirt with actually, and she even reciprocated a little, and it was kind of great. It was great because we both knew we would never go for each other, but it also made me feel like I was _in._

            And then Eren and Armin saw what I was about and they teased us and I teased back and we had a very, um, flirtatious circle thing going on. It wasn't weird at all, to be honest. Really, we _all_ knew that none of us would go for it. Well...okay, Armin and Eren were _totally_ flirting with each other for real. They seemed to have an odd relationship with each other, actually. Best friends that occasionally sleep with each other when the bosses are too busy? Yeah, I don't know, my intuition isn't _that_ good. But they seemed fine to let me in on their little flirting circle for a while.

            I looked back at Marco now and then. It was half to see if he needed me and half to see if he was looking in my direction. He usually was, even if he couldn't tell I was looking, and it was _fantastic_. I could see an emotion in his eyes - an emotion that wasn't _supposed_  to be there, but it was. Oh, it was. And he probably didn't even know it. But I know that emotion.

            Marco Bodt was getting jealous.

            And like I said, it was fantastic. Why? Because why would anyone be jealous over their _fake_ boyfriend? It just doesn't make sense, does it? In that moment of jealousy, Marco was looking at me as something other than a employee, and I think I definitely knew it before he did.

            So of course I continued. I kept on gossiping with my new friends, but from then on, I wasn't shy about slipping in a touch or an innuendo here or there. It didn't matter if Marco couldn't hear me. The reactions and body language were enough. And I was having fun, and there was no true harm because I knew that they knew I was playing. And  I was meant to be in a relationship anyway. God, it was so great.

            By the time Marco called me to him, I had successfully learned the hottest gossip on everyone in the room, made two new friends (three if you count Mikasa, though I'm not so sure she would - she probably goes through the exact exchange we had with other models at least three times a day), and faux-flirted my way to making my employer jealous. I don't know about you, but I believe I was doing quite well at my job.

            When Marco came to retrieve me, I purposely held off on telling him anything I talked to the interns about, despite his curiosity. It was great. If anything, my not telling him made him even more jealous. It was eating him alive and he didn't even know it.

            I was introduced to Bertholdt and Reiner then, and I'll be damned if they didn't give off the strongest "we're banging" vibe in the room. So strong, in fact, that I figured they were two that everyone knew about. I guess they were actually a thing.

            So they were some of Marco's closest friends or best models or both or something. Supposed to teach me modeling or whatever. Not that I was especially looking forward to it in the first place, but the wink Reiner gave told me that they were going to make it a good time. Suddenly it was no longer an annoying job drawback. Instead, it became a game, getting to strut down a runway, showing off my assets, with New York's elite watching me, rather than Hollywood's sleazy night crowd (even if it _was_ the _gay_ sleazy night crowd). And these two, who Marco considered his closest friends, were going to teach me? Not gunna lie, for some reason I imagined someone like Michael Caine coaching me...you know, like he coached Sandra Bullock in _Miss Congeniality?_ I know, I know, me and my movies again, I know...but really. That's the sort of image I had coming in.

            But Bert and Reiner...they were pretty alright dudes. Not bad on the eyes (not that I was looking or anything), and while they weren't quite as gossipy as Eren and Armin, and not as observant, they were definitely higher up on the unspoken _cool_ caste system, definitely more in the inner circle (for real, not just because their boss was a somebody), and definitely knew more about Marco Bodt than anyone else here. I took the wink as an invitation, almost. That night was meant to be our first runway lesson, and I have to say, I was actually feeling kind of excited about it.

* * *

 

            The rest of the weekend was completely filled up with training. I mean, I guess I would complain under any other circumstance, but if I wasn't training, what else would I be doing? Lounging around the hotel room with Marco? Not that I'm not enjoying his company more and more, but that's just the thing - I'm enjoying his company more and more. And the more we're stuck in that room alone together, the more I'm going to be getting urges, and then I'll end up acting on those urges, and fuck...he's just going to think I want more money. Although  he should know that wouldn't be the case, since I had told him I have standards and what not, and as it is, he's already spent a fuckton of money on me...but whatever. I'll figure out a way around that. Something tells me that my "way around that" though is that I'm just going to snap. But if I'm going to snap, I'd like to at least wait until after our first weekend together. I mean Christ, the shows haven't even started yet.

            So the training was good. I was spending all of my time with Marco, but _we_ were spending all of our time with Bert and Reiner. They knew the part about me not being an "experienced" model, but that's all of the charade they knew. Even in private, Marco and I were a couple to them and they thought I had done previous modeling. Well...I was kind of modeling my body for my  last job, was I not?

            We had our lunches and dinners together, and I was on the catwalk every moment in between, except for at nights to go back to the hotel and sleep. Saturday night was no big deal going back to the room, really. I still changed in the bathroom, whatever Marco thought about that. He never _said_ anything about it, but he had started doing it as well. I was a little disappointed, but at the same time, not seeing his body helped with my problem downstairs. I mean, as it was, those reading glasses he wore seemed to affect me just as much as I guessed watching him dress might. I was tired enough, though, that I just flopped onto my couch and was able to make small talk with him before sleeping without having to look directly at him, laid out on the bed...

            I'll work on this, I promise. I'll do something about it. But now is not the time for snapping. That waits until _at least_ after I know how to be a proper model. Or at least a somewhat proper model.

            But really, hanging out and working with Bert and Reiner is great. They're really funny and genuinely good people, and they incidentally have _a lot_ of stories to tell about Marco. They had him blushing and swatting at them numerous times, and I just sat and laughed. I almost felt like a real boyfriend a few times, when Marco held my hand for aesthetic's sake, and Reiner and Bert embarrassed him like a mother bringing out the baby pictures. I guess it was when we were with them that it really hit me that I wouldn't mind being with Marco for real. Even the pretend feeling was pretty nice.

            It made me want to do well in the training. Imagine that. I'm turning soft or something. Rich bastard's got me manipulated and he doesn't even know it. Although based on his jealous look from the brunch, I guess I have him secretly manipulated as well.

            So practice itself was going pretty well. They took turns showing me how to walk - just walk. Turns out there's a specific way you're supposed to do it. You can't just like... _walk_. You have to strut. Really strut and exaggerate it. It feels really ridiculous, to be honest, but at the same time, kind of great. One foot in front of the other. You would think that's how we walk normally, but I don't know, I guess your average dude doesn't? After trying it out, I realized that walking one foot _literally_ in front of the other feels a lot less natural than it sounds. They told me it's a pretty feminine thing, and to watch women walk, because I guess a lot of women _do_ walk that way naturally. Weird. It kind of makes your hips rock in a certain way. Despite it's strange feeling, almost like holding something with the wrong hand, I liked it. They had me walk up and down, one foot in front of the other, until it almost developed into my habitual style of walking. Oops.

            And then, just when I thought the rock of my hips wasn't going to get any more feminine, Bert left to retrieve something from behind the curtain at the end of our practice catwalk.

            "Where'd he go?" I asked Reiner, and then turned to Marco, who stood at ground level, watching us. Marco shrugged.

            "He's getting a tool," Reiner responded. He crossed his muscular arms.

            "A...tool?"

            "Well, _tools_. Plural."

            "I need _tools_ to walk?"

            "Mm."

            Before I could respond in confusion further, Bert emerged, holding two red -

            "Oh, fuck no."

             Bertholdt tossed the heels at my feet.

             "Go on," he prompted with a smile.

            "Do I _have_ to?"

            They nodded almost simultaneously. I heard a light snort and I turned down to look at Marco. He was composed, but only barely. I thought a man of the fashion world would be able to keep himself together for this, but obviously not.

            "If you can walk perfectly in heels down a runway, you can walk perfectly without them," Reiner said seriously.

            "But...I just walked perfectly up and down this runway one hundred times!"

            Bert shrugged. "It can always be better. And if you can be that good in heels, no one will ever know that you haven't done runway for years."          

            I had to admit, the idea wasn't bad, but I groaned anyway. "Did they really have to be red though? Couldn't we have done something more subtle...like black?"

            "Not like anyone's watching or anything," Reiner said. I glared down at Marco who was stifling himself once again.

            "Besides, _red_ heels give you an extra surge of power," Bert said. "Trust me."

            The man said it like he cleaned house in red heels. Actually, he probably does, so more power to him. I shrugged as I put the shoes on.

            It actually wasn't my first time putting on heels.

            Well...alright, it was only my second.

            So I can't say I was _that_ much more experienced, really. I had them on once for a costume party, and I didn't even wear them the whole night - just for pictures. So walking, and walking perfectly, and walking perfectly like a model down a runway was still going to be a challenge.

            I'll be damned if it didn't take me forever. It took an hour at least just to find my footing. Another hour to relearn how to put one foot in front of the other again. Marco had finally ceased laughing at me and now cringed in pain and sympathy, like _he_ was the one forming blisters and not me.

            I never fell, but I wobbled an embarrassing amount of times, and I praised everything I knew how to praise that I didn't have to wear heels in any actual shows. I also thanked my past self for choosing the stripper track of night life rather than the drag queen track, because I would like to never wear heels again, thank you very much. After our first night, I gratefully tore them off and tossed them back at Bert's feet.

            "Tomorrow we can meet again," Marco said, rubbing at his eyelids. That would be, what, Sunday? "We can just go through this all again, but I'll bring some of the clothes for a test run. I can bring what you two will be wearing as well, if you want to do a sort of dress rehearsal thing and let him see how it all pans out. Poses and everything."

            He had that kind of sleepy voice that one gets at the end of the day, which was funny, since he had been the one doing all the sitting and critiquing. It wasn't until I asked if I had to wear the heels the next day that I realized my own voice was even worse. I had to struggle not to slur - it was already past 11 pm. Luckily for me though, the answer was no on the heels. Thank God. Since we were doing a more dress rehearsal style, they all wanted it as close to the real thing as possible. Besides, they said I had gotten decent enough with the shoes that walking flatfooted would be a breeze. Like sticking a weight on a baseball bat and swinging with it before taking it off to bat for real...makes it seem like cake. Don't get me wrong, the hip movement that came with the heels was cool and all, but not worth it. I wanted nothing more than a good foot rub, honestly.

            "See you tomorrow then, boys," Marco waved, groggily. I waved back as well as I followed him outside to wave down a taxi. And like I said, being alone in the room that night was hardly a problem at all. We were both so exhausted that we barely got to chatting about the food we ate that day before drifting off against our wills.

* * *

 

            Our Sunday training was considerably easier - no heels, of course. But damn, getting up was a struggle. Standing, I mean.

            I rolled off of my sofa and stood, my knees buckling slightly. The ache wasn't _that_ bad, but I was more surprised than anything. I had expected my feet to be sore -  and they were! But I felt as though I had developed the calves of a champion overnight as well. I rubbed at them, listening to Marco laughing at me from the bed.

            "Oh, shut up," I jeered at him. I didn't need him to remind me how much I was being paid. I had made a huge fuss about it , but really, I would have worn heels all week for the pay I got and for the time I got to spend with Marco.

            I think...

            I think I'm falling for the rich bastard.

            Stripper Jean is, I mean. Not escort-fake-boyfriend Jean.

            Ah, hell, what am I saying? I'm both Jeans. Both Jeans are me. And it's barely been four days, and I have a loser crush on my boss. What the hell, man.

            I discovered that Marco was already dressed, sitting on his bed, when I recovered and was standing firmly on two feet.

            "Did I...did I sleep in?" I asked, confused.

            "Nah, I had to get up early to pack." He gestured towards a large suitcase of his, propped against the bed. "Clothing samples for practice today."

            Right. Dress rehearsal.

            It occurred to me that I hadn't asked what kind of clothes I would be wearing. For all I knew, Marco could be having me model briefs. Not that I would have minded that necessarily. More than I wear on a normal day of work, anyway. But warning would have been nice. I decided, as I poured myself a paper cup of  coffee to go, that I would wait to be surprised.

            Mornings were getting easier for me, I noticed. It was only my third morning spent with Marco so far, but it was the first that I was able to make civil, intelligible conversation with him. He seemed to be put in a good mood by it. I mean, he wasn't much of a morning person either, but it was more of in the normal kind of way. Not the murderous Kirschtein kind of way.

            "How you feeling?" he asked on the way to the building where our practice runway was located. It was a question directed to the real me, and since those were few and far between, I decided to answer properly, as opposed to with a shrug.

            "Mm, pretty great actually, if you don't consider the fire blazing in my heels."

            "That you'll get used to," he replied. It almost sounded cold, but he turned to me and flashed a warm smile.

             I chuckled at him, legitimately, biting at my lip ring. It was habit, of course, and I was doing it more, I noticed, when I had it in, since I had been taking it out in public more often to look a little more put together. I had it out for the brunch, as well as when we went out with Reiner and Bert in public to eat - places we'd be recognized. Marco made it clear that he wanted me to wear it for the show - something about wanting to the collection to have a more 'alternative feel' - but other than that, I was wearing it a lot less. So I bit it a lot more. I was under the possibly false impression that it looked sexy. Maybe I'd seduce him. I'm terrible, I know.

            "And how do you know that? You make a habit of wearing women's shoes, and you know the turmoil that comes with them?"

            He shrugged with a sheepish smile. "You do crazy stuff for fashion."

            I snorted. "Why am I not surprised..."

            He looked at me, almost like he was offended, but I smiled to let him know I meant no harm, and he returned the gesture. It felt comforting that the coldness that had been between us was melting away and had probably originated from us being intimate co-workers and strangers at the same time. At least now we could consider our real selves friends.

            "But no, really? How are you? Like, with the whole job thing? Still on board?"

            "What? Oh, hell yeah, totally."

            "Really? Because you can back out at any time if you aren't feeling it. You've had a taste of the people and kind of a taste for the modeling. If you've changed your mind, we can stage a tragic breakup and I'll buy you an early plane ticket home and -"

            "Marco."

            "Hm?"

            "It's great. It's fine. I love it, honestly. I love the people, I love the work, I love New York, I love playing your boyfriend. It's all great, and it's all fun, and I can't say the money hurts either, honestly. Even wearing stupid red heels is great. It's a hell of a lot better than dancing for drunk old bears on Tequila Tuesday, as much as I _love_ doing that as well."

            Marco raised his eyebrows at me. "Really?"

            "Yes, really, what? You think I'm lying? This is a great gig. Think about all the guys and girls that would kill for this kind of job."

            "I'm that great though? You love playing my boyfriend?"

            _Yes, Marco, almost as much as I'm sure I'd love being your boyfriend for real_. "Hey, now, don't flatter yourself," I laughed. "But I mean, yeah, why not? Young, rich, famous Marco Bodt. And you _are_ attractive, too, you know. It's not like I was stuck posing with like, Steve Buscemi. That's half the reason I felt fine with accepting your offer. You make me look good."

            I winked playfully at him, and I thought I saw him turn pink. The best part was that he heard all of that coming from the real me.

            "Well, um, that's great, then," he said as we pulled up to our practice space. He tipped our driver as we stepped out. "I'm, uh, glad that you're good with all this."

            We were back into couple mode once we were on the sidewalk, and I squeezed his shoulder. I wasn't sure which Jean the gesture was from, but it didn't matter. In public, all of my actions were from escort Jean by default for Marco. "More than happy to do it," I assured him, and I hoped that what he thought was my fake warmth would translate over more into our private life.

            Reiner and Bert were already there waiting for us, as I expected they would be, and Marco wheeled his  suitcase in so that we could get started straight away. He brought along only one outfit each for them, probably just for show since they had been walking in his clothes for years. For me, he brought three outfits. None of them were underwear, and I may or may not have been slightly disappointed about that.

            "They'll fit?" I whispered, as the other two were off changing. They, of course, weren't supposed to know that I was a _last second_ model for Marco.

            "I'm sure they will," he replied. "You're nearly the same height and build as me, and, except for Bert and Reiner, the other models are close to the same build as we are. I may have to alter a sleeve here or there, but yeah, you'll be fine. When I was looking for escorts, I kept all of that in mind for this very reason."

            The clothes weren't bad at all, actually. Definitely not stuff I minded getting to keep. It was like...the alternative gentlemen, or maybe classy hipster, if either of those things existed. If not, Marco had just invented them. And ultimate combination of being put together and carefully styled while looking laid back and care-free at the same time. Like one was _trying_ to look like they didn't try at all. It was pretty fabulous. I understood getting to keep my lip ring and the kind of impression it would leave. Just the cherry on the cake of edginess. One outfit was made up of a button up shirt, vest, and sports jacket, but they were just the right amount of loose to look casual, and were paired with expensive but comfortable looking distressed jeans. The other outfits followed a similar pattern with various combinations of ties and scarves - none of them matched.

            And they did fit well. Marco said that he would have to hem the sleeves on one of the jackets, and the bottoms of one pair of pants, but that that was child's play. He said there were always last minute adjustments to be made at shows like that, and that I wouldn't have to worry about it.

            I was instructed to watch Reiner and Bert do a few test walks, standing off the catwalk and next to Marco. Once they were in their element, they were like different people. I wondered if I transformed like that when I preformed on stage. They developed completely stoic expressions, that kind of generic model serious pout, and walked so _effortlessly_. They didn't make it look boring. Bert walked with a hand in a jacket pocket now and then, and they always did something when they reached the end of the walk.  

            "Watch their poses at the end," Marco whispered to me. "You always have stop and pose for a bit at the end. Make sure the crowd sees your clothes, let them photograph you, shift your hip or _something_ , and then turn and go. You can mix it up or whatever you want."

            So I watched. Sometimes they didn't do anything - just a cool head tilt or hip shift, like Marco mentioned. Once or twice, when he wore an outfit with a jacket, Reiner would take it off and toss it over his shoulder. It looked cool, and Marco told me that it was a good way to show off the clothes, so I decided that I would try that a few times as well.

            We practiced for nearly as long as we had the day before, and they all informed me that using the heels had worked fairly well as a practice method because my steps had already improved significantly. I tried working on my bitch face, and I guess that went pretty well also, since they all commented that I definitely had the look down. As long as I kept up a varied repertoire of poses, they assured me that I would fit in perfectly well by the show in the middle of the week.

            "See you two tomorrow?" Marco asked the models when all was said and done at the end of the night. We had ended slightly early to get dinner together at a small cafe.

            "Of course, we'll be at some of the shows for sure," Reiner assured him. They were exclusively models for Marco, but they did enjoy going to all of the events anyway, even if they weren't totally involved.

            "No practice tomorrow, then?" Bertholdt asked.

            "No, we can take a break," Marco replied, and I was kind of relieved. "We'll probably go right back to the hotel after everything. We can all get together Tuesday though, and I'll see if I can get all of the models together for a final test before the shows on Wednesday and Thursday."

            They nodded and we waved goodbye to them as we got into our car. We made small talk on the way back to the hotel, and our chats were getting friendlier and friendlier, but we were again too tired to say anything really substantial. We talked about Bert and Reiner and the other models, about the dinner we had just had and the clothes I had been fitted for and how I had liked them, and the shows that we would see the next morning on Monday, but when we got to the hotel room, we fell to our spots after cleaning up and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

 

            "What do you suggest I wear today?" I asked Marco as we got ready to head off to the first of the runway shows.

            "They aren't black tie events, but you have to look good. Wear one of the more fashionable things. Not _too_ casual, like for the brunch."

            I ended up going with a dark purple sort of sweater - it was built like a turtleneck, but the collar was more like a slouchy cowl. I put a distressed leather brown jacket over it, put on tan corduroy pants, and added a purple scarf for good measure. If I wasn't mistaken, 90% of what I was wearing was Gucci.

            "How's this?" I asked. I held the scarf out and did a single turn.

            "Perfect. Couldn't have been better if I had dressed you myself."

            "Well...you kind of did."

            He smiled at me and got dressed. I noticed that he didn't bother going into the bathroom this time. Neither did I, but I had dressed when he was in the shower, so it didn't matter. I wondered about the sudden change, not the I minded. I just made sure to stick a hand in my pocket and adjust myself when he wasn't looking - I had kind of been rewarded with too good a view of his bare back, and something about the dark freckled on his sun-tinted shoulders really did me in. God, I'm pathetic.

            He wore a sweater - a grey one in  a different style, though, while a collar that wrapped around itself and buttoned just off his shoulder. He wore a leather jacket as well, but black and not distressed, and paired with skinny black pants. We were dressed similarly, like we were from the same collection, but not identically, and when we stood next to each other looking in the mirror, I have to say, we looked _good_. Not just individually, but as a pair. We looked like a good couple, and if anyone had doubted us being together before, no one would today with the way we looked standing next to each other. It almost looked like we had gone shopping together.

            We got out at the first show, which incidentally turned out to be Ymir's menswear for women. If the rumors we heard were true, there was supposed to be a little menswear for men mixed in as well.

            It was crowded, and if Marco wasn't holding my hand to put on a show, he was doing it so that we wouldn't get swallowed up by the crowd. We were able to sit close to the front with other designers and press and models, while general public was kept mostly roped off. It was probably one of the first times, if not the only time, I had ever had a true VIP experience.

            I spotted my new friends, Armin and Eren, rather quickly in tow behind their bosses, who sat as close up as they possibly could. As Armin and Eren were beside them, I found myself sitting right next to them as well, and Marco beside me. I half expected someone to come and tell me that I couldn't be seated up that close and that I would have to be moved elsewhere, but no one ever came. It was then that I realized that I, or at least the people I was seated with, were the utmost authority there. Everyone that had any real power to get me to leave were seated to my left and right.

            I spotted other designers and glitterati lining the edges of the catwalk as we were. Many I recognized from the brunch, including Christa, the Victoria's Secret Angel. Of course she would be here as close as possible, as it was her girlfriend's collection that was being shown. She was seated with other unrealistically gorgeous women, whom I could only assume were fellow models. The flashes from paparazzi cameras made their hair shine and their eyes glow. I wondered if all of us looked that good in the spotlight. Looking around, I realized that, yeah, everyone did look pretty fucking perfect. It was weird, almost, kind of surreal. I mean, in Hollywood, attractive people are a dime a dozen, but at night, in the sleazy parts of Los Angeles, you don't often see them all gathered together. Here, in New York, in a roped off section of a fashion show, everyone was perfect and on point. And I wasn't an outsider. _That_ was the crazy part. Hell, I was a model. I was the trophy boyfriend. I was supposed to be one of the better looking ones. I prayed that the camera flashes made my hair and eyes shine, too.

            I saw Bert and Reiner come up to Marco, who sat on my right, and they each gave him a shoulder pat as they moved in to sit behind us. They greeted me as well, and I noticed that even they looked a little better than usual (which is really saying something when you're talking about models). Something about the atmosphere.

            I spent my time before the show started catching up with Armin and Eren. Again, I didn't bother hiding my flirtatious act. It was almost better, actually, with Marco seated right beside me. Now that he was within earshot, I wondered if he would get jealous again, or if he would realize that I was just messing around. Since he hadn't said anything the first time, I determined that he hadn't come to terms with any feelings he had just yet. Fine for me. Made the game a little more fun to play, to be honest.

            During one conversation topic, I put my hand on Armin's leg, as he was sitting directly to my left, just to see what would happen. He didn't flinch back or anything - in fact, it didn't seem to faze him at all. I tested the levels of intensity of flirting I could get away with, as far as their reactions went, _and_ Marco's reactions. Neither seemed affected in any way whatsoever. I was retreating back just enough for the interns to know that I wasn't being serious - I _knew_ they knew. That's why they didn't do anything about it but laugh and play along. I also grabbed for Marco's hand now and then, or put a hand on _his_ leg to let him know that escort Jean had not yet forgotten about him. Although, throughout the whole waiting period, he was chatting with Reiner and Bert. Whether or not he had even noticed my interactions with the interns was questionable.    

            All of that stopped when the house lights went down and the catwalk lights went up. I guess I had kind of expected it to happen that way, sort of like a movie theater. The crowd hushed, my hand found Marco's again, and our heads turned to the catwalk.

            I tried studying the models, the way they walked, and their poses, trying to pick up ideas for when it would be my turn. The rumors were true, it turned out, and the models were both male and female and everything in between. The style of clothing seemed mostly masculine, but overall fairly gender neutral. In my opinion, the entire thing seemed rather revolutionary and I, no doubt, would have worn every piece in the collection.

            I took my eyes off  the stage now and then to glance down our row of seats to look at Levi. I was trying to determine his expression every time I looked, since Marco had told me that the reviews of shows so often depended on his and Erwin's opinions of them. At least two cameras were focused on Levi's face for the duration of the show. He never seemed truly disgusted with any one piece. He raised his eyebrows often and tilted his head now and then. I saw his mouth twitch into what I thought could become a smile once. He never pulled the 'you fucked up' Miranda Priestly pursing of the lips, so I figured by his standards, the show went off pretty well.

            When it was all over, Ymir herself came out, wearing a gentleman's waistcoat and trousers...although now that I say that, it feels strange. After watching that show, I have a terribly difficult time gendering clothing. Which was probably the point of it all - to break the mold. And Ymir did a rock solid job of it. She wore a waistcoat and trousers. Not for men or women. There, that sounds better. And just for that, I think Ymir's show deserves 5 stars. If that's a thing in the fashion world. Are designers rated on a star system, like restaurants and hotels? I don't know. Maybe they do it like movie reviews. Ymir's show gets 100% on Rotten Tomatoes.

            There were two more shows after Ymir's, by designers I had not been introduced to. They flowed into one another rather seamlessly, so the lights stayed the same. There wasn't even anymore time to talk in between shows. The next two weren't bad - one collection strictly for men and one for women. I mean, they couldn't have been _bad_ , since we're kind of in the big leagues here, but they definitely were not as fantastic as  I thought Ymir's had been. Once or twice, I noticed Levi's face twist up, like he had bitten into a raw lemon. I instantly felt bad for the designers.

            I kept Marco's hand in mine absentmindedly throughout the duration of the shows, our hands in my lap. I had almost forgotten all about my teasing, and "the game," and my shameless flirting. I had almost forgotten that our relationship wasn't real.

            We left the same way we came after saying goodbye to our friends sitting in our general vicinity. It wasn't really late, but it seemed like we weren't going to stick around and shoot the breeze with anyone either. Marco seemed in a hurry to get back to the hotel, and I assumed that he was hungry, so I let him lead me by my hand through the crowd again.

            Once we were in the car, though, he said nothing. No small talk. He didn't even look at me or ask what I thought of the show. He stared straight forward, hands in his own lap, eyebrows furrowed slightly. I couldn't read his expression, because honestly, I hadn't seen him use this expression yet. It could have been anything from confused, to angry, to upset, to scared. It certainly wasn't the perplexed jealous expression I had seen at brunch. Or maybe it was just _really_ hungry...although if that was the only case, I was sure that he at least would have talked to me. I wondered if maybe he had talked to Bert and Reiner about something upsetting, or if he had seen something that I had missed.

            Surely he wasn't speaking because whatever was on his mind was something he didn't want our driver hearing. That was alright, I guess. He had forbade me from certain topics while in the car and within earshot of our driver. I rested my chin in my hand as I leaned on the car door and stared out the window, hoping that he would open up when we reached the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was the longest chapter so far. Jean is quite chatty...  
> Sorry for that kind of long gap in between updates! I had a lot of school stress, but I'm on my summer break now. I have work, but I should still have a lot more time to write! I expect Chapter 6 will also be up this week...and it may or may not feature...sexy things.
> 
> As a gift, have these videos...More examples of stripper!Jean's pole dancing because who doesnt want that?: [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNVWemDx9u0), [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oi0NKp71hH0), [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quk2ypU_UXY)
> 
> My Main Blog: My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [X](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	6. Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note ~  
> Tumblr user fangirlregretsnothing has made 2 fantastic fanarts for Haute! The first is Marco and Jean, with Jean in his Rodeo Drive outfit, and the second is Jean stripping. You can find those [HERE](http://fangirlregretsnothing.tumblr.com/post/83238843499/i-couldnt-help-but-take-a-quick-break-from-my)  
> and [HERE](http://fangirlregretsnothing.tumblr.com/post/84033598089/i-should-be-getting-work-done-right-now-but-this), so please go show them some love!
> 
> If you have any art, music, thoughts, ideas, or comments about Haute, feel free to submit them to my blog [HERE](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
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>  
> 
> Thanks, and enjoy this chapter~

_What a great achievement it was_   
_To get a hotel room this late_   
_I bet they charge by the hour here_   
_The kind of place where you should bring your own UV ray_   
_It's not a big problem with me, love_   
_You don't look that hygienic anyway_   
_I'm only here because_   
_I wanna twist the structure of my average day_   
_..._   
_What a great achievement it was_   
_To find someone who shirks such little self-restraint_   
_I'm a non-believer but_   
_I believe in these dirty little wicked games_

\- Jump Into the Fog, The Wombats

* * *

 

            I said nothing until we were back into the hotel room. Blame my paranoia. I didn't want our driver hearing, the people on the street...even the receptionist at the front desk. I wasn't even going to bother risking giving Jean a hint of what I had to say to him.

            He followed me back to the room, not making a sound either, following directly behind me like an obedient, albeit confused, puppy. He knew something was up, I could tell. I waited for him to follow me all the way into our room before I closed the door behind him and started in on what I had been keeping in for the too-long trek between Ymir's show and the Ritz.

            "Jean, what the _fuck_ was that?"

            His eyes widened instantly. Whatever he had been expecting from me, it clearly hadn't _this_ intense in his mind.

            "What?" he asked with a slight bewilderment.

            "You couldn't have made your flirting with the interns a _little less obvious_?"

            His face softened then, almost turning into what looked like annoyance, as thought he couldn't believe that _that's_ what I was making a fuss over.

            "Why?" he shrugged. "I can flirt with whoever I want."

            "You're _supposed_ to be my boyfriend."

            "I'm your _employee_. And you know it," he shot back without missing a beat. I winced for a moment before regaining my footing.

            "That's damn right. You _are_ my employee. This week, I _own_ you. We agreed to that. And out _there_ , you're supposed to be my boyfriend."

            He laughed. I found no humor in the matter at all, but he was amused and somehow baffled as hell. "God _damn_ , Marco. Get a clue. The only reason I can flirt and get away with it is because they wouldn't _seriously_ go through with me. They obviously know I'm with you. And I mean, Jesus, they're all fucking each other already! The interns fuck each other, their bosses fuck each other. I _know_ the bosses have fucked the interns. Hell, pretty sure the models are all fucking each other, too. And they wanna keep it all hush-hush, but I know. Oh, I _know_. I'm a sex worker. I come with, like, a sixth-sex-sense. They're all fucking, and no one knows it. The only people they all _actually believe_ are gettin' down and dirty - the only ones who _should be doing it_ \- are me and you, and we aren't."

            I was silent. Were...were they all really fucking each other? It couldn't be. But then again, it very well could be. I mean, well... now that Jean had pointed it out, it was _blatantly_ obvious. At the very least, I could now perfectly envision the sexual tension seeping from between Levi and Erwin Smith.  And their interns sometimes seemed more like little pets than anything.

            But I wasn't spending too much time thinking about that, because Jean had said that _we_ were the only ones who _should be_ having sex.

             So...was that coming from everyone else? Or was that his opinion? No. It _had_ to be his opinion, because just before, he had said that everyone already believed we were doing it. So they wouldn't need to think that we _should_ be doing it. Right?

            Jean was tired of my thinking. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

            The pieces were falling into place. "You...were trying to make me jealous."

            "Bingo! The rich bastard's got it."

            "But...why? That makes no sense. You're already posing as my boyfriend. What's the point? You've got me."

            He grinned at me, in the same way he had laughed before. Amused and baffled. "You answered your own question. If I flirted directly with you, how would you know if I was doing it as Stripper Jean, or hired Model Boyfriend Jean? You wouldn't. You would never know my true intentions. But if I made you jealous by flirting with _others_...now why would your perfect model boyfriend bother doing such a thing? No, no, that was all me, sweet cheeks."

            "And so...you think...we should be...,"

            "We should be."

            Before I could start to form a reply, or a real coherent thought for that matter, his lips were crushed against mine - so hard I thought they might bruise. I couldn't remember the last time I had been kissed like that. Hell...I couldn't remember the last time I had actually been kissed _at all_.

            And damn, it felt good.

            "Mmph," I grunted against his mouth. He pulled back and looked legitimately concerned. "You...sure?" I asked. I mean, I had spent all this time shamelessly fantasizing over my escort that I had convinced myself that a fantasy was all that would happen for real between us. I always thought he was strictly business. I mean, he slept on the sofa. He changed in the bathroom, for God's sake! Clearly I had misinterpreted all of that, and made a point to question him on it later.

            He looked me up and down, before returning his eyes back to mine. There was a fire behind them.

            "Fuck yeah, I'm sure."

            "A-alright, then," I stuttered back. Not that I was shy or anything. I was just completely taken aback by everything. However, once his hand was back behind my head, pulling me back towards his hungry mouth, the demeanor melted away. So I had completely misjudged him and his intentions, and everyone else for that matter, and I guess I'm always doing that because I'm never _around_ a lot of people and never observe anyone...but I'm certainly glad I was wrong.

            I had played this situation out before in my head - more than once, actually. Not that my feelings towards Jean were purely lustful. Sure, they started that way (and I mean, we met in a strip club, so what else was my first impression going to be like), but he was seriously starting to get to me. It's hard when most of the time, he's being my escort, but I see the true him when he wakes up and he falls asleep, and I see that witty, bold personality that I had shopped with on Rodeo Drive shining through the model Jean. He completely fascinates me. _Enraptures_ me. Regardless of whether he's putting on a show for everyone or not. And he makes me wish that I had found him sooner, and gotten to know him in a totally candid and personal way, and that I could have fallen in love with him conventionally, maybe over a cup of coffee in a quaint coffeeshop that we had found together, rather than in the corner of our hotel room, so that he might have come to New York with me as my real, honest to goodness boyfriend, rather than glorified hired help. We're going about things a bit backwards here, but I'm not going to start complaining now.

            Jean had been holding back just as much as I had, it seemed. I almost felt bad. I wondered if he would have brought something up sooner if money weren't involved. I knew I wouldn't be paying for anything that would be happening right then - I was clearly playing with the real Jean Kirschtein here.

            To make up for it, I let him continue with the control he had over me. His kissing had gotten so aggressive that I had been pushed against the end of the hotel bed. I was struggling to keep up with him, his tongue fucking my mouth with a raw kind of passion. He was definitely helping me make up for my long romantic hiatus, although I probably should have expected as much from a worker in his position. The way he had danced last week, there was no way he was going to be bad at something like this.   

            As the back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, my legs buckled, forcing me into a sitting position. Jean was hardly  fazed by it at all and he climbed onto my lap without a second thought, a knee on either side of me on the mattress. He held my face gently but firmly as his tongue ran smoothly across the roof of my mouth, sending a chill up my spine. I couldn't bother hiding it, and I heard him snicker as he licked quickly over my bottom lip before diving deep back into the kiss. Wondering what I could do to return the favor, I pulled my mouth away from his. He pouted almost instantly, and it was probably involuntary, but I stopped him quickly. He had stuck out his bottom lip just slightly at me and it presented me with the perfect opportunity - I leaned forward and caught him with my teeth. He had left his lip ring in for Ymir's show, and I sucked at it gently as I had been eager to do ever since I noticed that he had it.

            I heard a low groan in his throat, and I couldn't tell if it was because of the work I was doing on his lip or because he was sitting on the ever hardening spot at my crotch. I hoped it was a combination of the two.

            He wrapped his arms around me for leverage and pulled himself harder onto my lap, legs wrapped around my waist now. With his crotch pressed up against where my navel was, he started tugging at the bottom of my sweater. I pulled my jacket off so that he could pull the sweater up and over and over my head, and in no time, he had taken off his as well. I could hardly remember a break in our kissing as we stripped. Someone's mouth and hands were always somewhere doing something. This was not patient, curious love-making. This was overdue and this was eager. The passion started off at full capacity. With a spot inside my pants damp with pre-cum, I wondered if we would even be able to make it to the actual sex.

            With our shirts off, Jean pushed me all the way back onto the  bed, his knees still on either side of me - his mouth somehow managed not to leave mine on the way down.

            To be quite honest, in my fantasies, I _had_ been a bit more...aggressive. I was starting to feel that our roles should be switched, and I had the perfect opportunity to slip out from under Jean and into my rightful position.

            "Mm-mph, hold on," I mumbled against his lips. He pulled back only slightly, the metal of his ring still grazing my bottom lip. The coolness of it caused another slight twinge in my pants, and _fuck_ , I was tempted to relinquish my dominance and just let him devour me then and there. But no, this was important.

            "What's up," he whispered, his warm breath mingling with mine. I slipped out from under him and crawled up the bed, over to the bedside table, and opened the drawer where the hotel Bibles were normally kept. I pulled out a little bottle that had a red bow around the lid and a condom. I didn't toss them to him, fully intending to use them myself, but he saw them nonetheless.

            "The fuck?" he asked, but a smile started to spread. "What, did you go shopping? Were you expecting this to happen or what? Did you bring them with you?"

            I was glad he was taking my surprise preparation with so much amusement. I grinned cheekily and shrugged. "They were a gift, actually. Reiner and Bert slipped them to me as a congrats-on-a-real-relationship gift. I just stuffed them in there, but I figured I would keep them...aren't you glad I did?"

            He brought himself up onto his knees as he bit at his ring and chuckled almost darkly in agreement. It was kind of a growl, deep in his throat, and I'll be damned if it wasn't the sexiest sound I had ever heard.

            I pounced at him, my primal instincts triggered by his animalistic purrs, and tore at the button on his pants. I silently thanked Gucci for designing them with such a simple button - it's like the designers knew that the wearer of these pants would get laid.

            I pulled them down to his thighs and he shimmied them the rest of the way off for me. He seemed to be perfectly pleased with our switched positions, now that I hovered over him, now just inches about his face. I flicked my tongue inside his mouth twice, leaving by running across the roof of his mouth as he had down to me - I could see the blonde hair on his arms stand up and he slowly closed his eyes.

            I moved down to his bottom lip, giving his ring a final suck, and down to his jaw line. I noticed that he had the lightest freckle - beauty mark - just below his mouth on the right side. I gave it a kiss as well.

            I moved down, suckling gently at each spot I passed, careful not to leave marks where they would be visible during any shows. I licked tiny constellations down his neck, leaving a suck and a kiss for each collarbone.           

            I left a dark purple hickey just between his sternum and a pec. The harder I sucked at the pale skin, the higher he rose his hips in excitement. It was then that I learned just how much he enjoyed being the masochist, how well last week's stripping song fit, and how I was perfectly content with my place atop him, biting and sucking at one nipple and pinching at the other. I heard his breaths becoming shakier and he sucked at his own lip. I only noticed that the harder I went, the more excited he was, but he hardly spoke a word.

            Once I was sufficiently satisfied with the scatted purple spots across his chest, I continued my kissing trek along his body, remembering his tattoo when I reached his hem. The black petals of his rose laid gently on his hip bone, and the dark, thorny stem dipped down below the band of his purple boxers. I couldn't help running my thumb over the velvety petals, and had to kiss each of them, but I was desperately eager to see the rest of the stem. I ran my fingers past the seam, and Jean eagerly assisted me in pulling the boxers off entirely. He had waited entirely too long, and he already had a small spot on them.

            He was honestly a bit longer than I had imagined - maybe it was a stripper's illusion, or I just hadn't seen a good dick in a while, but I was pleasantly surprised and almost a little thankful that I just had to worry about it going in my mouth.

            I took him in my right hand, getting a feel for him, and again, there was another twinge. He was getting restless as I used my thumb to rub clear pre-cum over the head of his cock. With my thumb still rubbing gently, I licked a spot of skin just inside his thigh and blew on it lightly. His goose bumps spread quickly from the chill and I used the distraction to deep throat him completely, using my special parlor trick to stop my gag reflex, until my lips brushed at flat skin.

            " _Fuck_ ," he whimpered satisfyingly. I wiped away a tear that had pooled thanks to my quick start, and looked up at Jean's face without removing my mouth - his eyes were closed and the most delicious expression was set on his face. It only made me more eager to continue my work.

            I leaned down and took him again, not completely deep throating this time. I had found that the deep throat was something nice to start off with, and it did feel good, but a lot of it was just aesthetically pleasing. Instead, I only let myself go half way down, quickly, and then pulled back up at a tauntingly slow pace, getting tighter and tighter until I hit the spot just under the head. I could always tell when I got the sweet spot by the sharp intake of breath from Jean - this time, I also received a sweet whine of pleasure. I repeated the exact motion three more times, each time eliciting the perfect moan. I quickened my pace each time, but paid the same amount of attention to the trigger spot.    

            After an especially spine-tingling moan, I pulled off, flicking my tongue across the head. Warm pre-cum was still seeping and I rubbed at it again.

            "N-no, Marco," he pleaded, "please, a little more." I smirked at him, but did little else in response.

            "Please, God, _please_ , just a little more, I'm so _close_ ," he begged some more. I stared him in the eyes, maintaining my mischievous expression. He looked honestly desperate. If I didn't know him any better, I would have guessed he would have started crying, lying naked and vulnerable beneath me, wet cock still hard and expecting a climax that it wasn't getting.

            I tossed off my pants, rolled on the condom, and started slicking myself up with the lube, finding no harm in using all of the small bottle. I had no problem taking my time, leaving a whimpering and throbbing Jean under me.

            When I was ready, I grabbed his hips and flipped his body over. He enthusiastically took this as a cue and rose up on all fours.

            I wish I could tell you that I took it slow and romantic, kissing down slowly to the small of his back, but this was not the time for that. We were too eager, and in that moment, I knew neither one of us had any desire to take this slow and steady. The only thing on my mind as I slathered up the remainder of the lube was how fast and hard I was going to fuck Jean into oblivion.

            And he was ready for it.

            My first entry was our slowest point, which was the most important. I heard Jean inhale sharply again and he bit at his knuckle, but when I stopped to make sure he was alright, he nodded frantically, as though he was worried that I was going to stop.

            From that point on, I only got faster, currents of ecstasy pumping through my veins into Jean. His arms suddenly began to quiver from the pleasure and fatigue of holding himself up, and he fell onto his elbows. I kept his ass tighter against me as this happened, which tightened him around my cock more as well, and we each let out a groan.           

            I found my rhythm again, but this tighter position was driving me crazy. I could tell I wasn't going to be able to last, but I refused to slow my pacing. Jean's hand had found his own cock and was now pumping at it in time with the bucking of my hips. I grabbed onto him tightly with both hands, using them to pull him harder against me as I brought my hips to him.

            " _P-please,_ " Jean whimpered. The growl was gone. I had tamed him. I never got to figure out was he was saying 'please' for though. With three hard, final thrusts, I finished with loud grunt. Jean bunched the sheets in his left hand as his warm cum trickled over his right. He let out a wordless moan that he had clearly been trying to suppress as he collapsed beneath me.

            I flipped him around and lowered myself onto him, our bodies sticky with sweat and cum.

            I loved it. The way bare skin felt on bare skin. I licked at his neck, reveling in the now salty taste.

* * *

 

            After a fairly  innocent, much needed shower together, we tucked ourselves into bed early. For the first time that week, we slept in the same bed together, and Jean seemed pleased to be able to give the sofa up.

            We didn't discuss anything that had happened. We didn't discuss fashion, and we didn't discuss our relationship, real or fiction. We just let it all be for the evening and fell asleep quickly, once again with bare skin on bare skin, my arms wrapped around him and held tight against his back.                                                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo....I decided to make this chapter exclusively smut. So it was a little shorter than the others. But it needed to be done and I want to keep it seperate from the before and after effects. I hope you enjoyed it either way!
> 
> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> I also run the Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [Here](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	7. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More work for Haute! 
> 
> Tumblr user fangirlregretsnothing has made a lovely comic illustrating a scene from Chapter 5 which can be found [HERE](http://fangirlregretsnothing.tumblr.com/post/90494554743/soooo-i-kinda-did-this-last-night-in-like-10)  
> Tumblr user neeleop has create this lovely illustration featuring what looks like clothes from the fic which can be found [HERE](http://neeleop.tumblr.com/post/92046419295/walk-walk-fashion-baby)  
> Go show those beautiful artists some love!
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to those who have sent me Haute related asks on Tumblr, particularly the slew of Zoolander asks. Hehe. 
> 
> If you have any art, music, thoughts, ideas, or comments about Haute, feel free to submit them to my blog [HERE](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> (Also, for the time being, please be patient and ignore any typos this chapter might have so far. I've had a sketchy past two days and I wouldn't be surprised if I just totally missed stuff.)

_Keep quiet_  
_Nothing comes as easy as you_  
_Can I lay in your bed all day?_  
_I'll be your best kept secret and your biggest mistake_  
_The hand behind this pen relives a failure every day_  
\- Nobody Puts Baby In a Corner, Fall Out Boy

* * *

 

            When I woke up the next morning, I was both intrigued and relieved to see that Marco was still wrapped around me. His hand was draped over my torso, a thumb caressing the edges of my black rose. I'm sure it was unintentional, but there's was just something so _cool_ about it.

            Now, normally it might not mean much to have the man you just slept with like, spooning you morning after. In the same position you fell asleep in. Nothing out of the ordinary there _really_. But...shit man, I don't know. You know that after-sex thing...like where you gotta piss really bad after it's all said and done for whatever the hell reason? Yeah, well, Marco got up to go as was expected of him. I felt him crawl out of bed in the middle of the night and the bathroom light clicked on and all.

            And yet, we awoke in more or less the exact same position.

            Even after having the precious moment broken by a bathroom break, the bastard came right back to the same position, wrapped around me. Crazy. I can count on my fingers how many times _that_ has happened.

            I lead a lame existence, alright? I do _have_ a social life. It's my love life that lacks real, uh, _substance_. I mean, what a change of pace to sleep with a man who _came back_ after the bathroom break. Usually they would use that as an excuse to pick up their scattered clothing and make the walk of shame quietly out of the room as I pretend to still be asleep. I had half expected to hear Marco slip out the hotel door after coming back from the bathroom before remembering that he couldn't exactly _go_ anywhere.

            But I mean...I guess he and I had the same problem after all. Hadn't he hired me in the first place because _his_ love life lacked "substance?" I mean, shit, by those standards, we're made for each other. Marco the billionaire and Jean the reasonably-priced stripper. Match made in heaven, I'll tell you.

            After waking up and falling back asleep three times to Marco's deep snores, I finally got up for good at about nine to see my benefactor (read: lover? pretend boyfriend? real boyfriend?) at the coffee machine. The hair sticking up at the nape of his neck and his bare back were telltale signs of his lack of a shower. Shit looked downright domestic.

            "You snore," was the first thing I decided was appropriate to tell him.

            "Do I?" he turned to me, coffee in his right hand and his left leaning against the counter. There was something particularly devious about his expression, but I couldn't exactly place it.

            "Well...you haven't the past few nights, actually. So maybe it's just a thing you do after a beautiful night with a beautiful man?"

            "Mm," he agreed with a sip of his battery acid. "That would explain why they rarely last through the night."

            "Hey, I stayed, didn't I?"

            He shrugged, not bothering to state the obvious fact that I couldn't have actually gone anywhere even if I wanted to. Regardless of personal feelings and relations, nothing was going to change the fact that I was being paid, and that was that.

            Quietly, I made my own coffee and my mind couldn't help but wander to the tuft of hair at Marco's neck, just cow licked up the way it was, and the way it swirled, drawing the eyes down between the shoulder blades, which were so perfectly visible and defined without a shirt to cover them...

            I hoped that Marco hadn't showered yet because he was waiting for me or something glorious like that, because I had gone and excited myself and I was having a hard time imagining venturing out the hotel without a little reprise of the night before.

            I decided instead to kill the feeling by saying the most clichéd - the most _embarrassing_ statement to ever escape my lips.  I flinch, just thinking about it, and I can honestly say that I never imagined such a phrase coming from my mouth, and yet, Mr. Bodt caused me to surprise myself yet again.

            "Let's talk about _us_."

            Fuck. Slap me, please, I deserve it, but I mean...if any situation deserved such a statement, it was this one.

            Marco's eyebrows shot up, but I know he knew we had to discuss, you know, _us._ I think he was more surprised (and relieved) that I just sucked it up and said it first.

            "And...what about _us_?" he teased. He knew perfectly well what I was on about, but I figured I would go ahead and humor him.

            "Where does last night put us?"

            And I guess he really had no idea what to say to that. So maybe he _hadn't_ really thought about it.

            "Okay, to make it...easier," I helped, "last night was, um...no extra charge."

            He blushed lightly, just under his eyes and at the tips of his ears. It was actually pretty funny (not to mention fuckin' adorable) that we went through all that we had the night before with animalistic passion, but that he blushed at the mention of it.

            "I see..." he said bashfully. It made me wonder if he had actually considered paying me for the act.

            "I told you, I have standards, remember? I'm not a prostitute. Just a stripping male escort."

            He laughed, and I might have been the slightest bit offended if I hadn't realized how _not_ serious I sounded.

            "So, uh...I was definitely sleeping with _stripper_ Jean, rather than _model_ Jean? Just to, you know, clarify..."

            "Plot twist, Marco: _they're the same person._ "

            Now _that_ was a purely serious statement. It's just...I was getting a better paycheck for being model Jean. To be honest, besides lying about having modeled before (and being in an official relationship with Marco), I didn't actually have to do much acting. He seemed to pick up on this.

            "So then how much of our fake relationship was actually fake to you?"

            I shrugged. "I dunno. That's kind of a grey fuzzy area, really. I never would have minded holding your hand for real. I just had rhyme and reason to do so in public if I wanted to, so I just did. I can't say for sure when I did it because I wanted it, and when I did it to fool everyone else. There's not a very clear distinction. I dunno. Does it really matter? I like you, Marco. Model Jean likes you _and_ Stripper Jean."

            At that, he kind of threw himself at me and kissed me full on the mouth. It was almost innocent, in comparison to our first kisses. It was sweet, because I could feel that it came purely from his happiness and not just primal instinct.

            "So, uh..." he got bashful again. I hated how his dumb shy blush made me feel like a twelve year old with a crush. Kind of  embarrassing, since I probably haven't actually felt that way since I was twelve, but, like...whatever. "Does this mean I can call you my boyfriend like, um...like, in here, too?"

            I laughed out loud. You know, from his magazine shoots and interviews and designs, I never would have pegged Marco Bodt as such a complete dork.

            "I mean, yeah, of course, if you want that."

            And he _beamed_. I mean _really_ fucking smiled. I had broken him somehow. I had seen that dazzling smile often since being in New York - Marco smiled and laughed a lot - but he always acted so _cool_ around me that I had not been the soul recipient of the smiles too often. Something about knowing that I had caused the smile just made me stupidly happy. Despite _my_ trying to be cool, I couldn't help but break into a completely stupid smile as well.

            "This should make the act out there twice as easy then, hm?" he finally said after a completely non-awkward minute of us watching each other smile. My expression must have shifted slightly, because he started waving his hands, like he was trying to get rid of some lingering thought in the air.

            "Don't think I'm not going to pay you still, though! I totally am, in full. I mean, just because we're together for real now doesn't mean you aren't my employee anymore. I'll still pay the three thousand, the modeling salary...you still keep the clothes..."

            It was like he was concerned that I would take it all back if I wasn't being paid. I wouldn't, of course, but that reassurance still kind of made me want to kiss him all over.

            I settled for one kiss, slightly less innocent that the one I had just received, but honestly, that kiss had been like a playground peck. This was more like a relationship seal.

            It played out sweetly, one hand at his bare and dimpled lower back, and his hand at my jaw. The scents of our two different coffee cups swirled together between us, and for a while it seemed like I had been with Marco forever. It was so strange, but after years of men leaving before coffee was even a question, how else was I supposed to feel?

            We were broken up by the melodic twinkle of Marco's text tone from his phone on the night stand. I excused him to get it, taking a moment to pick up Marco's cup and inhale deeply. It smelled alright, but I could almost feel the strength. I couldn't fathom how Marco decided he liked the shit for its _flavor_ , let alone why he decided to try it anyway.

            "That was Reiner," Marco explained, interrupting my train of thought. "He and Bert are about ten minutes from the catwalk, so we need to hop to it."

            I had kind of completely forgetting all about doing the actual modeling part of my job for a bit, but we still had Marco's shoot to do and I had been promised a final rehearsal. This time, the rest of Marco's models were going to join us near the end for official dress rehearsal and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. It just seemed to creep up a lot faster than I was prepared for. Still, Reiner had said if I could walk in heels, I could walk without them, so I knew my actual walking would look at least look half confident.

            After Marco's text we both scrambled to get ready. He packed more outfits for the official dress rehearsal and stuck his head under the bathroom sink to fix his bed head He didn't have time at that point for a full on shower, but I reminded him of our post-sex shower the night before. It seemed he had forgotten all about it, apparently not counting it as a shower since it involved more than one person. We _had_ actually cleaned up though - it was fairly innocent for a two person shower - so he decided his hair wetting would suffice.

            He also requested I keep the lip ring in again. While he assured me that it, of course, was to enhance the aesthetic of the show, he was also now able to admit that it was "sexy as hell."

            I bit at it purposely, trying to feign thoughtfulness. "Oh yeah? You don't think it's tawdry or anything?"

            I mean, I knew it wasn't. Even I admit to myself that it looks fucking great. Why else would I have gotten it if I hadn't seen other hot guys pulling it off? I just asked Marco because I wanted him to fawn over it again. And he did, obviously, reassuring me enthusiastically that it was fitting and just subtle enough and did I think that he, a fashion professional, would allow me to walk down the runway with it in if it didn't look absolutely perfect?

            I'll tell you what, dating someone in the fashion industry, regardless of the relationship's validation, is a miracle for self-esteem.

            Marco had me dress in black skinny jeans, a fad I never tried simply because of its reputation. Looking in the mirror though, I have to say I looked pretty damn fantastic. He said the key was clothes that fit and clothing made for your body type. Doesn't matter if you need to buy the biggest size of something or the smallest - if that's what fits you, that's what will make you look good. A bigger size won't make you look bigger. It'll just make you look like you know how to dress properly. Just like buying a size too small won't make you that size. He said that was a common issue with skinny jeans - people buying a size that was not fit just for them.

            "On you, though, they're a dream. You're taller and lean, and they hug you the right way."

            I don't know what the right way is, so I just went with it.

            Well.

            I should say I _didn't_ know the right way. Until I saw what Marco was wearing. If my ass looked as good in skinny jeans as his did in corduroys, I would never take them off.

            "Can I ask you something?" Marco said after we got into our car ready to leave.  Reiner and Bert had already made it to the studio.

            "Shoot."

            "So, uh...why did you keep changing and stuff with the bathroom door locked? Like, if you were into me and stuff. You strip for a living. Why hide? Was it a tease? I don't understand...and then I just did it because you were doing it."

            I laughed at him. Sometimes his naivety struck me.

            "Kind of hard to get dressed with a hard-on. Thought that might throw a wrench in everything before I decided to totally toss it out the window. Can't have you thinking I was into you or anything."

            He blushed hard and I laughed again, unfazed. Talking casually about sex was nothing to me, really. It's my living. Seeing Marco trying to do the same, both talking about it and hearing about it, was a different matter. It was entertaining.

            "So, uh...no kidding, huh? You really did fight with yourself on this one for a while."

            My smile turned into a serious expression and I nodded. I mean, yeah, of course. With every minute, I was realizing that I was a lot more serious than I had thought. I didn't need to hide behind the fake boyfriend thing, and yet, I was acting pretty much the same.

            Well. I mean. Not acting. But I didn't have to change anything. Nothing was different except for it feeling real now. It was nice. It was cool. It was right.

            It was _absolutely_ fucking terrifying.

            But, uh. Yeah. I'll figure that part out later.

            We arrived at our rehearsal space apparently not long after Reiner and Bert had arrived - we caught them just at the edge of the catwalk still sipping on hot coffee.

            It always entertained me seeing them in their street clothes. Like their more casual stuff. It was still pretty high scale and designer, but like...the casual side of designer. You know, like t-shirts that just look like t-shirts until you see that they're fifty bucks? I keep getting put in these button ups to match Marco, but Reiner wore a tight navy blue Hollister tee. I imagine he would fit in Los Angeles, except for the part where he looked like the brand personified. Like the damn models that show up in front of the store to pose with thirteen year old girls.

            Well. I mean, he _is_ a model. He probably _has_ done work for them before. The thing is, any guy could throw on a Hollister shirt. I'm sure even someone might tease him for it, whatever. Some Californian surfer wannabe. And it _almost_ looked comical to see Reiner dressed that way, such a ripped stereotypical SoCal guy, but no one would ever be able to say anything about him, because anyone who might think to tease him about it would never get the chance to look as perfect in that shirt as he did.

            Bert was a little more effortless...and yet, I think it would take years of effort for me to pull off what he was wearing. It was just a short sleeved button up with the sleeves rolled up once. But floral print. _Floral._ Can you imagine? Me in a floral? How would it ever work? But Bert was just pulling it off like it was made for him. The flowers complimented his dark skin in such a unique way that the shirt _had_ to be made for him. I discreetly tried to catch a glimpse of a tag and found a name embroidered at the hem -

            _Marco Bodt._

            I was now about 90% sure that the shirt was made just for him.  99% sure he wore it on a catwalk.  Last year's Spring collection? There was no doubt.

            They put down their coffees to help Marco and I get out all of the clothes that he had brought along for rehearsal. It was a lot like our last one, but more clothing options and less high heels.

            "The extra is for the models that are coming later," Marco mentioned, and directed us to the outfits we would be wearing. For the most part they were the same as before with perhaps an extra outfit for  each of us. We retained the edgy alternative style, like Marco was trying to revive the best of 90's grunge and make it classier with a polished modern highlight.

            Look at me, I'm talking fashion. 

            Once we were dressed, Marco took his regular seat and bid us to practice. Our goal was to get my walk and turns as polished as we could, even before our colleagues arrive. We all decided  it would be for the best that the other models not know they were working with an amateur.

            "You've got your walk down pretty well," Bert assured me. "The heels definitely helped you, whether you believe it or not."

            I smiled at him. He was really fucking hard not to smile around. Something about his demeanor was strangely relaxing.

            "Bert's right," Reiner agreed, patting a huge hand on my shoulder. "Your walk alone is damn near perfect at this point. Now you really need to focus on your turn and you pose - or look. That's going to make or break your walk."

            You _think_ I didn't know shit about fashion before this gig, but hey, I'm Jean Motherfuckin' Kirschtein. I know a thing or two. I knew some designers. I knew fashion week was a big thing. And I _know_ all about turns and all that shit.

            Remember? I'm a movie watcher. I've seen _The Incredibles_ , so I was able to understand that Levi is Edna Mode. I've seen _The Devil Wears Prada_ , so I understand that Erwin is Miranda Priestly, and that Eren and Armin are their glorified bitches. I've seen _Mean Girls_ (five hundred times), so I know how this social class works.

            But most important of all is the one movie I've seen just about as many times as _Mean Girls_.

            _Zoolander_.

            I know what a turn is, and I _know_ what a look is.

            I decided to play around just to show off my elite expertise. Reiner and Bert each walked once and demonstrated a perfect walk, stop, and turn with outfits Marco had selected for them. Bert had a jacket with his ensemble and took  it off and flipped it over a shoulder with one fluid movement. If I could mimic something like that, I'd be golden.

            But. I decided to play around first.

            "Ready to go?" Reiner asked. I nodded simply and walked up the platform. My coaches hopped down beside Marco and they flipped on the soundtrack.

            I did everything just the way I was supposed to, one foot in front of the other. The looks on my small crowds' faces told me that I was doing everything just right. Thanks to my stripping acts, I already knew how to bob myself in time with the music. I wondered how Marco would feel about incorporating a pole into his show.

            I reached the end on the walk and stopped, perfectly with a break in the music.

            That was mostly my extremely good luck with timing.

            Standing sideways, I turned my head, pursed my lips, sucked in my cheeks, and cocked an eyebrow.

            Instantly, Bert fell over himself with laughter. Marco hid a laugh behind his hand, but he was turning red from trying to keep it in, which made _me_ laugh. Reiner flicked the music off immediately and snorted.

            "Did you really just use _Blue Steel_ as your look?"

            I couldn't even say anything. I just snorted and sniggered again, having received the reaction I had hoped for, and Reiner finally broke out with his own fittingly booming laugh.

            "I think every male model in history has attempted Blue Steel at least once," Reiner chuckled. Bert ran a hand through his hair, mumbling something about needing to watch the movie again.

            Marco looked like he was still trying to stifle back his laughs. "It probably wouldn't have been as funny if you didn't do it so freaking well."

            "Let's have another go, I think," Reiner said, setting the music back. I hopped off the catwalk to recompose myself.

            "Hey, Bertholdt," I piped up seriously. He looked at me, eyebrows raised, prepared to answer a sincere modeling question, but I think he knew what I was getting at. "Did you ever think that there was more to life than being really, really, _really_ ridiculously good looking?"

            "Oh, you think I'm really, really good looking?" he snorted. I gave him my pout again for added effect and he turned away quickly before doubling over in laughter again.

            "I mean, maybe we should be doing something more _meaningful_ with our lives. Like _helping_ people," I finished, climbing back onto the catwalk. I had watched the movie so many times that my impression was near perfection. I noticed Marco strike a tear away from the corner of his eye.

            From then on, I kept my poses professional, mimicking what Reiner and Bert had done, trying with jackets and without jackets, and turning both left and right. I also tried out some stuff I had learned from watching shows on Youtube from my phone during down time, which everyone seemed to be rather impressed with. With a bit of tweaking, I looked rather good next to the other models who finally arrived.

            I wish I could say that Reiner and Bert were the best looking men Marco had, if not the best looking men I had ever seen in person. They were my mentors. I was biased.

            Unfortunately, _all_ of Marco's models were the best looking men I had ever seen.  Bastard knew how to pick them. In any other situation, being in their presence would intimidate the hell out of me. In this case, it was kind of a confidence boost, because I was among their ranks. I was _worthy_.

            Not gunna lie, they caused a moment of weakness. I spared a wink or two here and there to my fellow models, all in good, innocent fun. It's hard, really, going from a job where I have to put on a show to please other good-looking men for a living, to a job where I have to put on a show to please Marco Bodt for a living, to a job where I'm _just_ a model and in a monogamous relationship. Old habits are hard to break. It's a strange mindset to adjust to. Reiner and Bert raised an eyebrow at me now and then and I could only shrug and smile in response.

            Watching the other models proved to be extremely helpful as well. I tried keeping my walk my own, just as I was taught, because I knew trying to fix something that was already good would only lead to destruction - especially the day before the show. I did, however, latch onto a lot of their poses and styles, and I guess that paid off.

            It was nice to see Marco's collection before the official show. Personally I loved everything about it. Leather, denim...but classed up. I wondered how much of it I could take away with me. Besides that, I was kind of ogling it the entire time and I'm sure I looked completely stupid doing so. It was nice to get all of my dumb staring out of the way before I had to do this in front of a lot more people.

            "Think you're ready for the grand finale?" Reiner asked. I shrugged.

            "Yeah, ready as I'll ever be. And if I fuck up, I think the crowd will be too distracted by the other models to notice me."

            With a booming laugh, he gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Good attitude to have, Zoolander."

            "Let's wrap it up, guys!" Marco commanded.  I kind of loved the tone of his voice and wondered if he could transfer it to... _other_ situations. "Miss Ackerman has this place booked for the next three hours!"

            We started changing and packing up, although it seemed like I didn't need to do much. Mikasa Ackerman came in when we still had about fifteen minutes left of time and I was pretty surprised to see that Armin and Eren were tagging along with her and her models. I mean, I know they're really close and all. It was more surprise that Erwin and Levi didn't need them.

            I went to greet my friends as Marco helped get his models packed away and prepped for the next day.

            "Miss Ackerman," I greeted with a smile. I took her hand and kissed it. Quite gentlemanly of me, I do think. "Might I say your hair looks lovely today?"

            She took her hand back gently and looked at a strand of her black locks. "Mm. Thank you."

            She walked away, leaving Armin and Eren with me.

            "Huh. Usually I would get a little more of a...reaction."

            "I don't think she's in the market," Armin replied with half a smile.

            "For men? Well, it's not like I'm in the market for women -"

            "No, no," Eren corrected me sharply. "For like...anyone."

            My eyebrows rose.

            "She's asexual," Armin explained softly. "Also, as far as I know, she's never been interested in a romantic relationship either. Her strongest relationships include her friendships with us and her rivalry with Annie Leonhardt. And while anyone would tell you that her love and loyalty to us is the strongest love in the world, it's not _that_ kind of love."

            "No kidding? Well, good for her," I remarked. There was something kind of beautiful about the whole thing, but I couldn't say what that was.

            "Works in her favor, I have to say," Eren said, crossing her arms. "She's stupidly focused on her work."

            "So, where's the bosses tonight?" I asked. "Let you off the leash?"

            Eren's eyes narrowed like he was offended, but Armin laughed as he pulled his hair back. "They're um, occupied tonight."

            They had probably given the interns some stupid excuse, but I had a strong feeling about what their bosses would actually be doing as the night reached its end.

            "-so we get to help Mikasa tonight," he finished breaking me out of my daze. "You all hyped up for Marco's show tomorrow? Prepared?"

            I gave the two a cheeky smile. "Will you guys be there to support me?"

            "Of course!" Armin replied enthusiastically, threatening to elbow Eren if he claimed otherwise. I winked.

            "Then I am beyond prepared."

            I turned away to join Marco who was watching, waiting for me by Reiner and Bertholdt.

            "See you guys tomorrow, then!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Just because I've gotten a few (very polite) asks and comments about it, I do realize the difference between asexual and aromantic and I realize that asexuals CAN have romantic relationships. What Armin is trying to say is that Mikasa is both asexual AND aromantic. I was just trying to find a nice way to word it, but I think I just made that more confusing. Anyway, I hope this helps clarify and prevents future misunderstandings.
> 
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> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)


	8. Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other work for Haute: 
> 
> Tumblr user fangirlregretsnothing has made a lovely comic illustrating a scene from Chapter 5 which can be found [HERE](http://fangirlregretsnothing.tumblr.com/post/90494554743/soooo-i-kinda-did-this-last-night-in-like-10)  
> Tumblr user neeleop has create this lovely illustration featuring what looks like clothes from the fic which can be found [HERE](http://neeleop.tumblr.com/post/92046419295/walk-walk-fashion-baby)  
> Go show those beautiful artists some love!
> 
> If you have any art, music, thoughts, ideas, or comments about Haute, feel free to submit them to my blog [HERE](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)

_One for the money, two for the show_  
 _I love you honey, I'm ready, I'm ready to go_  
 _How did you get that way? I don't know_  
 _You're screwed up and brilliant,_  
 _Look like a million dollar man,_  
 _So why is my heart broke?_  
-Million Dollar Man, Lana Del Rey

* * *

            I have to say, aside from all of my silly emotions and paranoia and...whatever, being able to say that I was in a relationship and that I had a boyfriend (and have it actually _not_ be a lie) felt...really, really nice.

            Better than nice, actually. It's something I haven't felt or had in _such_ a long time that it's hard thinking of adjectives to describe it properly. It's just surreal.

            Being with Jean is...well, it's not what I expected. That probably sounds bad, but I mean it in the best way. I guess I'm kind of awful for judging him at face value, but when I walked into Skitzo looking for an escort, I at least _thought_ I knew what I was getting into. In a way, I was kind of right. Jean isn't a millionaire. He's a little rough around the edges. But he's _smart_. A lot smarter than I had originally given him credit for. He picked up on our lifestyle quickly and played it perfectly, and he can look at someone and just seem to _know_ them in a way I was never able to do. I mean, obviously. I totally misjudged him. And I guess I totally missed all of my colleagues' secret lives, too. Secret lives that Jean picked up on in a second. I should know by now how shallow the people I associate with are on the surface, but I don't know. I guess I'm just kind of too naive for all that.

            He's street smart, and in the world we're living in - the world of the glitterati - that counts for a lot. In fact, I'd actually say it benefits me as well, since I clearly was blind to half of what was going on.

            He's sweet in the funniest kind of way. Not a conventional kind of sweet. Not sweet like Christ the Angel, or the way people say I'm sweet, being too nice to everyone, even to a fault. He's sweet in the kind of way where he doesn't seem to want to let his guard down, until suddenly you catch him staring at you or he slips something into a conversation that is _so_ full of warmth and love, and he tries to hide it like he never said a thing, but it's too wonderful to cover up.

            And God. Damn. That boy can kiss.

            It might just be depraved Marco talking here, but I don't know, he just kind of puts a little extra fire into it, it feels like.  For someone who hasn't been kissed in a while, I sure hit the jackpot on the person who broke my dry spell.

            So I assumed the paranoia was just, you know, _me_. Not like I haven't had a problem with paranoia before, really. In fact, aside from my career, it's probably the main cause for my failed relationships in the past. That being said, I tried to keep the nagging voice in my mind silenced so that I could completely focus on my boyfriend.

            We lay in bed that night after our final rehearsal, and I placed that focus on the amber in his eyes as he hovered over me, an elbow propping himself up beside my pillow.

            "What's your relationship with Mikasa Ackerman?" he asked, tracing circles on my upper arm, after asking about my relationship with the interns, and even further inquiring about my past with Bertholdt and Reiner. I didn't feel that it was too strange asking about them, seeing as he had formed a fast bond with them (though he did act a little closer to the interns that I thought was normal, even if it _was_ to make me jealous). Ackerman did seem kind of odd to be asking me about, though.

            "Why do you ask?"

            Jean shrugged as much as he was able to for being balanced on one elbow.

            "Curiosity. Just learning as much as I can about everyone. And I figured, since we're together now, it would be helpful for me to know about your personal relationships with everyone and not just the ones I've made friends with."

            I nodded before he added on.

            "Like, I dunno...did you know she was asexual?"

            " _And_ aromantic, yes, I actually did know that."

            "Shocking. I mean, the fact that you knew. Seeing as you hardly seem to know a thing about the romance and sex lives of anyone in this industry."

            I laughed, but only because the statement was outstandingly true.

            "Right...," I agreed. "But I'm actually closer to Mikasa that it looks on the surface."

            "No kidding?"

            "No kidding. We actually kind of got started in the industry about the same time. We graduated from the New York Fashion Institute together and we were pretty good friends in school as well. I think she just appreciated that I wasn't as pretentious or stuck up as a lot of our other classmates. We're just a lot busier these days, so we don't get chances to talk as much anymore, and of course, I came back to live in LA after school. We do call each other every now and then, just to catch up on the gossip about everyone else. She may not look to be the gossipy type, but girl knows some secrets."

            Jean stared at me for a while until he started to turn red with laughter.

            "What? What's so funny?"

            "I don't know, I was just remembering about how you were so clueless about everyone having sex with each other, and I thought, well, if you're apparently so close with Mikasa, then there's at least _one_ person you _have_ to know the sexual partners of, but...well, I guess not."

            "Hey! It's not my fault that she's not into that."

            He shrugged. "You could have at least inquired about Eren and Armin."

            "Nah, we have more important stuff to gossip about. Bigger fish to fry. Hey, wanna know something funny?"

            "What?"

            "At one point, tabloids speculated about us dating."

            " _What?_ "

            "No kidding. I mean, someone knew we were close, I suppose. Followed us around, saw us on coffee dates? And _of course_ , we're opposite gender, so _of course_ that meant we must be dating. I mean, honestly, those tabloid writers are dumb as rocks. We didn't even do anything about it. We just bought some copies of the magazine and laughed at them over lattes. It didn't even affect anyone in our circle because even if not everyone knew about Mikasa's preferences, or lack thereof, I don't really keep my own hidden. Everyone knew how farfetched it was, and Armin and Eren teased her about it for weeks."

            Jean shook his head in disbelief. "Huh. Mikasa Ackerman and Marco Bodt. OTP for life."

            "OT...what?"

            Jean blinked a few times. "Um. Never...nevermind."

            "Anyway," I continued, still confused slightly by Jean's comment, "The two of us decided to have a deal. If I never got married by age, like, forty, she and I would get married, live together platonically, and make life simpler for our old selves by splitting bills and, you know, text benefits and all. Permanent roommate, I guess."

            "Adorable," Jean said, chuckling and shaking his head again. And if you _do_ get married to someone else? Does that mean she's out of your life for good?"

            "Believe it or not, we've discussed this. She's offered to be a surrogate for me if I ever decide I want my own kids. Honestly, though, I think she'd do it anyway, even if we did the thing where the two of us get married."

            "Marco Bodt and Mikasa Ackerman, married and platonically raising a child. Now I've heard of everything."

            "Oh, shut up," I said, playfully swatting at his shoulder.

            "You've forgotten something though."

            "What?"

            "No one will ever believe a marriage between you and Mikasa when you have such a dashing boyfriend on your arm," he winked. Before I could reply, he was kissing my lips. He then shifted to give me a little kiss at the corner of my mouth, and then down to my chin, and then my neck. He continued down until he had kissed nearly every square inch of my body.

            "I think- hn! Mikasa will-mm! Forgive me," I replied between surprised gasps. I pulled him back to my lips for another kiss that sent us beneath the sheets, and we remained there until I had forgotten Mikasa's name, and the fact that I was ever paranoid over Jean's relationship with any of my colleagues.

* * *

 

            The next morning had all the makings of a lazy after-sweet-sex one. The kind of morning where you don't even consider getting out of bed until about eleven, and then you finally roll out and make pancakes together in boxers and robes.

            Not that I know much about those kind of mornings from personal experience. But I've heard about them and read about them and seen them in movies, and if any morning were to go that way, it would be this one.

            Unfortunately, I was gently roused awake when Jean tossed over at my side, and the clock on the bedside table (with a red light indicating that the alarm was set) reminded me that such a blissful morning was going to have to wait.

            I woke at a lucky time, two minutes prior to the alarm going off. I switched it off so that the obnoxious cacophony would not interrupt the mood of the morning as it had a shrill tendency to do. I guessed that as long as we had to get up early and get to work after the kind of night we had had, at the very least it would be more pleasant to nudge Jean awake on my own.

            I leaned down to his ear and kissed it and just by the shift in his breathing pattern I could tell that he was slightly more awake. I had noticed in just this time that we had spent together so far that he was an exceptionally light-sleeper.

            "Today's the day, baby," I whispered softly. He groaned. "We have to get going."

            I rolled out of bed and took inventory of my wardrobe. Today was my show, so of course I was prepared to wear nothing but my best. Still, I wasn't entirely sure if it was best for me to wear a regular nice suit _or_ something edgier to fit in with my collection.

            "No tie," Jean mumbled groggily as I held up two different ones against my neck.

            "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," I said. "No tie?"

            "Right," he followed up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his wrist. "Wear the more formal suit, but with no tie. and leave the blazer with only one button."

            I followed his instruction with a slight smirk over the fact that my last-second model was giving me fashion advice. My eyebrows rose when I saw myself in the mirror, and I have to admit, it was exactly the kind of look I needed, albeit not one I had considered. For whatever reason, I had not considered simply making the more formal look edgy. Which was strange seeing as that was more or less the basic concept of my entire collection. I laughed at myself and how obviously Jean was now integrated into our world.

            "Any suggestions for what I should wear?" he asked, headed for the shower, and I was painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't bothered to cover any inch of his bare body on the journey from the bed to the bathroom.

            "U-um, no, you can wear whatever you'd like," I said, having trouble deciding whether it was best to zero in my attentions on his ass or my words. "I mean, you're going to be modeling for the most important part of the day, and I'm providing those clothes. I trust your judgment in the meantime."

            For the first few days, I probably would not have had the courage to let him choose his own outfit, but he advised _me_ on fashion today, and after all, everything I had bought for him was designer. Even if he put stuff together that didn't exactly go together, the brands would help him at the very least. I also couldn't deny the fact that he was a _real_ model now, regardless of how he earned his title. I had to give him some credit where credit was due. By this point, he had seen more fashion shows and been on more runways than most other people get to in their entire lives.

            As per usual, I had the coffee ready by the time he was out of the shower. We had officially fallen into a routine, and besides that, I had learned how to make his coffee the way he preferred it. Which I thought was pretty impressive, seeing as nothing ever goes into my own coffee.

            Jean emerged from the shower and got dressed, which was an act he now had no issue performing in front of me. He was head to toe in a Ralph Lauren ensemble which he was wearing _casually_. I feigned wiping a tear in pride. Not that I didn't like him in his neon tank and cut offs that day I took him to Rodeo, but in just one week, he had made a complete transformation. He wasn't even going to be walking down the runway in the outfit, and he was top notch.

            I held his coffee to him when he stood up from tying his Italian dress shoe.

            "I can't," he insisted, shaking a hand at it.

            "What, already watching the waist line? Jean, you're fine."

            "No, just nerves," he said, with a hand to his stomach. I raised an eyebrow at him.

            "You'll be perfect! You get on stage all the time!"

            He shrugged. "I get nervous when I strip, too. No matter what, it's just I thing I have. It goes away just before I go on and adrenaline and muscle memory takes over, but still. I don't think I could drink a thing."

            I forced it into his hands. "You won't regret it. Trust me. You'll need _something_ in your stomach, and the extra energy is only going to help you. Especially after last night," I added with a wink. It got him to smile and sip at the beverage at least.

            "If I throw up on your runway," he mumbled into the mug, "don't say I didn't warn you."

            Still, by the time I got everything together and we were ready to step out the door, he had finished the entire coffee. He stilled grumbled about getting sick, but somehow I knew he wouldn't. If he knew anything was going to go seriously wrong, he would have left the coffee alone.

            "You remember everything?" I asked him as he headed to our limousine.

            "You mean, like...what I'm supposed to do?"

            "Yeah, your moves, yeah."

            He laughed. Like really scoffed at me.

            " _My moves_...Marco. I walk. That's it. I just have to pose, walk, pose, _turn_ , walk, pose. Easy. It's not like I have a damn... _dance routine_ to remember."

            He kept laughing and I just stared at him until I couldn't help but laugh as well.

            "Well, geeze, then what are you so nervous for?"

            He shrugged."I mean...I don't know...I just am. There are still people that are going to be watching me either way.  I have to make you look good. You gave me a rep to protect now, too."

            He rolled his eyes. "I don't think you need to worry about making me look good."

            He raised his eyebrow at me. "Oh, that confident, are you?"

            "No, no, I mean...they've all seen you with me already. I don't think that you've noticed, but do you realize that when the paparazzi are at the shows, they take pictures of the crowd, too? You already make me look good. I'm not depending on this _show_ to have you make me look good. Don't forget, I invited you to be with me here before I even determined you were going to model. Just...do what you've been practicing, and follow the other models. You're behind Reiner every time you walk on, so just follow his step. It'll be perfect."

            He looked off, like he was deep in thought about something. "Mm...yeah."

            "Yeah? So...all good?"

            He suddenly snapped out of his reverie and looked down at me. "Yeah. Let's do this."

* * *

 

            Backstage was hectic as usual, but I slipped right into the regular routine. Fashion Week was like coming home. Jean, of course, had no routine to slip back into, other than what he had been doing in rehearsals, but for that, he was doing his best to appear professional.

            He behaved the way he had behaved all week, fretting around his clothing rack, chatting nervously with Reiner, Bert, and the other models he had just met, and staring off into some sort of deep daydream at what sometimes seemed like the most inopportune of times. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking at times like those, but I decided that if it was something he never brought up to me, it wasn't important. Heck, maybe he was just one of those people who stared off and really thought of _nothing_.  Some people do that - just retreat into themselves when they need to. Maybe it's a coping mechanism for...something.

            Which brought me to another idea that, believe it or not, did a wonder on my paranoia. I mean, he talks to those models and those interns in the most suggestive way. But really, he _had_ told me that I was clueless about reading people. I tried to convince myself that I was totally wrong. Maybe that's just how it looked to my embarrassingly untrained eye.

             I think some people talk, or flirt, in that sort of way as a nerve kind of thing.

            I think.

             And in that case, I think Jean is one of those people. _Point being_ , I've managed to convince myself that my recent paranoia is likely unjustified. After all, Jean confessed to his real-fake flirting and already told me that it was a tactic to get to me, and so what reason does he have to continue? I think it's just the fact that my eyes are more open to it now that I know it was a thing.

            Whatever.

            Or at least, whatever for now. Whatever as long as it's time for the show and eyes are focused on me. Whatever as long as I _need_ to keep my composure intact.

            And besides, if it actually _is_ all a coping mechanism for Jean and it helps keep his nerves down, then I can turn a blind eye to it.

            I had my models dressed and their clothing racks assigned. They stood in line in the order they were to go on with makeup artists still tailing some of them, dabbing different colors on their faces. I let them do their thing for the most part, as far as powders were concerned, but I asked that all my boys wear eyeliner. I thought it might add to the alternative thing, and it totally did, I mean, it looked great.

            But...I kind of shot myself in the foot with it.

            It was a last minute decision, meaning we didn't do it at the dress rehearsal. Therefore, seeing Jean in eyeliner for the first time _right before_ introducing my collection was almost the death of me. It wasn't until the moment before I started speaking to the crowd that I even found my words again.

            What I'm saying is, men should wear eyeliner every day, pretty much.

            Of course, Levi and Erwin were front and center as always, but I could just barely see their outlines with the lights pointed up at me. My eyes adjusted quickly enough for me to just see their faces as well, and the interns beside them, but I thought maybe if Jean went fast enough, he wouldn't see their faces looking up at him and he wouldn't be so nervous.

            Or maybe seeing his friends would comfort him. Maybe the thing that calmed him when he did shows back in LA was seeing men's faces looking up at him. Probably, seeing as he worked the crowd so well. Hell, what do I know?

            After my collection was introduced with a bow, I excused myself backstage once more.

            "Break a leg, boys," I whispered. Bertholdt smiled at me, first in line, looking cool and tall in tight black pants and a blazer. His hair was flopped in front and he looked exotic with the eyeliner against his dark skin. He was a good look to be the first on the runway.

            Reiner shot me double pistols and a wink when I reached him, and the eyeliner looked almost ironic on him, but in the best of ways. It was like one of those fashion or beauty things you see that you could never imagine working, until you use it in the most perfect way and it ends up sexy as hell - like blue lipstick or completely untamed hair.

            Jean was making my heart jump, dressed just the way he had rehearsed, but _damn_ , his eyes were popping. Frankly, it was driving me crazy, and I was especially thankful that I would not have to return to the stage until the show was completely over.

            "You're going to be great," I whispered to him.

            "I know," he replied. He was trying not to smirk at me after his smart answer and was failing, so I kissed him before he could break out the mischievous look in its entirety. 

            "Good luck."

            From there I was able to watch from backstage, but it was a little different from when I was able to watch from the sidelines with Reiner and Bert  in that I had no one's arm to squeeze my nerves out on.

            "Esme, c'mere!" whispered loudly to one of the makeup artists.

            " _Ouie,_ Mr. Bodt?"

            "Hold my hand!"

            She handed it to me and I held it pressed against my chest.

            "Nervous?"

            "This collection is my baby, you know. And it's his first time."

            " _His_? You mean...," She looked to where Jean was in line. Bertholdt was just returning to change into his second outfit and shot a thumbs up to me to let me know that all was so far, so good. That meant that, at the very least, Levi hadn't scowled yet.

            "The one with the...," Esme continued, gesturing at the nape of her neck to indicate Jean's undercut. "You're dating him, _non_? It's his first time?"

            "Mhm," I replied, nodding at her.

            " _No_...he's so good looking, though!"

            I looked at her with raised eyebrows, unsure of how Jean being good looking was a reason why this couldn't be his first show.

            "Look, he's going on now!"

            And so he was. Jean walked up the steps and I saw him step out onto the catwalk. Bert was trying to see out as well, and I realized that he would be passing Reiner out there. I had a feeling he would be calmed by that.

            I knew I could trust him, but I still found myself pleading with him in my head not to do the Blue Steel thing. So far, he was doing perfectly. And by perfectly, I mean just like everyone else. He was blending in, even if to me he looked a little better than the rest.

            Excuse my prejudice.

            But his walk was brilliant and I was glad for my clothes as well - unfortunately, not every outfit translates well to a skinny model and a lit up runway. But this was good and it seemed that he was able to put on foot in front of the other no problem.

            He got to the end of the runway and I held my breath.

             He coolly unzipped his jacket and tossed it over a shoulder the way Bert had taught him. Perfect.

            I released the breath (which I don't think I realized I had been holding), and whispered an apology to Esme after noticing that I was squeezing her hand a little too hard.

            "Ooh, he did so well, Mr. Bodt!"

            "He did, didn't he?"

            When Reiner appeared backstage once more, his eyebrows rose and he nodded at me, somehow letting me know that my boy had done well, even if there was a little surprise behind the look.

            Jean came back, and despite trying to keep his cool look, he couldn't help but find me and smile before going to change into his second look. The relief I felt was unprecedented.

            The remainder of the show went off quite the same way, with Jean catching my eye when he could and Bert and Reiner giving me the occasional nod to let me know that all was going well, in terms of Jean _and_ in terms of the show's reception. I gave Esme's hand a rest, which she seemed to be grateful for, and did what I could to watch the rest from behind the scenes.

            Then, before I knew it, the show was over, and I was back on the catwalk taking my bows. It seemed that the reception _was_ good, and seeing as no one in the audience looked like they wanted to gauge their eyes out or be sick, I hoped that the collection would be editorial ready.

            "Was that fantastic, or was that _fucking_ fantastic?" Jean shouted to me when I came back. He attacked me with a full on embrace, evidently ignoring any cool facade he was trying to keep up for himself.

            "I'm just glad you didn't retreat back into _Zoolander_."

            "What? That's all you have-"

            I kissed him to shut him up. "Brilliant. It was brilliant. _You_ were brilliant. Come on, Mikasa's show is next."

            " _Ooh_ , your _girlfriend_ ," he taunted like a grade school student. I stomped on his foot.

            The seats started rearranging themselves for Mikasa's show and we found ourselves sitting with Ymir and Christa in the second row. They had, I realized, not met Jean, but Jean was quickly greeted by the interns in the front row and Ymir got straight to praising my show.

            " _Loved_ the color scheme, my man," said my freckle twin. The color scheme, of course, consisting of dark reds and greens, grays and blacks. In fact, not completely far off from her own, so I accepted the compliment. "And _nice_ catch, too."

            I shifted slightly to listen in on the "catch's" conversation.

            "You have to come get coffee with us tomorrow, since it's the last day," Armin was insisting, turned around in his chair. "You can't tell me you have a rehearsal to run through."

            Jean tilted his head towards me, smiling.

            "Yeah, I think my _coach_ will let me off the hook for an afternoon," he teased. I shrugged, returning his smile.

            "Text me," Jean mouthed to Armin as the lights adjusted to fit Mikasa's show.

            The show itself was as brilliant as everyone expected it would be. As always, I was stunned by the intricacy of Mikasa's detail, head to toe. It made me wish that it was more socially acceptable for me to wear dresses, because I would have worn everything she made. I decided that Ymir's more non-gendered looks would be a decent alternative for me.

            I was completely unsurprised to have the paparazzi focused on me during her show - I mean why would they not be, seeing as Mikasa and I were evidently fashion's hottest couple? I hoped that maybe Jean sitting next to me would throw the cameras off, but really, they were completely undependable.

            With another round of runway shows, my own included, out of the way, Jean and I were able to pack back into our limousine with considerably less stress.

            Less anxiety? Maybe not. But less stress, yes.

            As much as they lie and make a farce out of everything, the paparazzi _do_ make me nervous, and there really is no escaping them, so you kind of have to sit there and take what's coming. I still had to wait for the official response to my show, and, can't lie, I was _still_ kind of paranoid about....the Jean problem.

            Like I said, though, that's...that's just me, I think.

            But I didn't bring up any of the anxiety. It seemed like the logical option.

            "I'm proud of you," I said instead.

            Jean turned his head to me.

            "...Yeah?"

            "Of course, yeah."

            "You're the one who _made_ this," he said, gesturing across himself. He had gotten someone's glitter on his cheek and his eyes were still black with the makeup - his eye shone like gold against coal.

            "Just take the compliment, Jean."

            "...Thanks," he said finally. "I'm proud of me, too."

            We ended up back in our room with good feelings overall, albeit with aching muscles. We tumbled into bed early, and for as focused on clothing as the night had been, it did not take long at all for ours to come off.

            The way we kissed then was...different than before. Not bad different. Kind of perfectly wonderful different. It was soft and it was full of trust and lacked nerve. But it was sweet. It wasn't rushed or animalistic, but that meant that it wasn't confused, either.

            Unlike the first two times we had had sex, still unsure of each other and what _we_ even were, this time was more relaxed. Like we _wanted_ to learn each other. And I mean, we _did._ It almost felt like a honeymoon kind of situation, with our show being over and the big job taken care of. It felt like we could slow down and relax.

            Rain had started tapping at the window outside. There's something special about city rain, I think. Being high up in a hotel makes it feel unreal, and you can hear the cars of New York splashing through puddles below on shining asphalt. Jean turned on our electric fireplace for the first time since staying at the Ritz with a little remote beside the bed. Turns out my stripper is capable of being a romantic as well.

            I don't think I've ever had a moment like that. I mean feeling that warm and comfortable. Comfortable with myself _and_ who I was with. I laughed when Jean dared himself to count all of my freckles, because I knew it was impossible, but what I _thought_ was even more impossible was the fact that I would ever find someone who would even want to try doing such a thing.

            So I let him try, long fingers skimming my abdomen.

            It was different because he held me - really held me - when all was said and done, and not because he felt obligated to. I think he would have held me then even if we _hadn't_ had sex, which was a thing I wasn't completely sure of the first two times.

            It was different because when all was said and done, I was no longer thinking about any of my anxieties or paranoias, and it was a strange change of pace.

            The _first_ time had been different than _any_ time with any other man I had ever been with, but that was because he hadn't left, and because it was passionate, and because I felt desired for the first time I could remember.

            _This_ time felt different because I felt _loved_.

             And you know what?

            I think I love him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one took a while. I was having a serious mental block, but I forced myself through it, and here we are!
> 
> About 2 or 3 more chapters left....I'm thinking of 10 chapters + an epilogue, so sit tight! Lemme know your thoughts in the comments!
> 
> and because I'm shameless, I'm doin' this again:
> 
> I have another big project that I'm working on. It's a modern supernatural au fic that, by circumstance, heavily features yumikuri, with some jeanmarco on the side, and some other surprise ships. There are witches, there are vampires, there are vampire hunters, there's drama and action, there's Ilse's notebook...Anyway, I'm really proud of the notes and plans I have of it so far and I would greatly appreciate for any Haute readers who like my writing but are looking for something new to go check it out and help give me feedback! You can find that here: [Blood and Water](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1902783)
> 
>  
> 
> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> I also run the Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [X](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	9. Wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other work for Haute: 
> 
> Tumblr user and author of Droplets theprophetlemonade made some beautiful bookcovers for JeanMarco fics, including one for Haute! Go check those out [HERE](http://theprophetlemonade.tumblr.com/post/96800799878/archive-of-our-own-shingeki-no-kyojin-attack)
> 
> If you have any art, music, thoughts, ideas, or comments about Haute, feel free to submit them to my blog [HERE](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)

_Every boyfriend is the one_  
 _Until otherwise proven_  
 _The good are never easy_  
 _The easy never good_  
 _And love never happens like you think it really should_  
  
 _Deception and perfection are wonderful traits_  
 _One will breed love_  
 _The other hate_  
 _You'll find me in the lonely hearts_  
 _Under "I'm after a brand new start"_  
\- Homewrecker, Marina  & the Diamonds

* * *

 

            I woke up after what was arguably one of the best nights of my life. Better than our first time, even. I've had plenty of "first times," trust me. Plenty of one night stands with eager hands and animalistic instincts. They're a dime a dozen in my world, even with Marco as a partner.

            I've never had what I had last night.

            Ever.

            Aside from the fact that I actually _felt_ something this time - like, something intimate and _real_ \- there were all the extra parts that made it special. The fire. The rain outside. The cuddling afterward. Because I'm definitely a cuddler, and no one ever seems to think that of me. It's kind of offensive, really.

            I woke up facing Marco, our limbs intertwined. I kind of appreciated that as well - anyone and everyone spoons. It takes something special to face each other afterward, in my opinion. Our fire had gone out, probably hours before we had woken up, but the smell casually lingered as a reminded that the night had been real.

            I loved it. I loved everything about it, and I knew that I would rather have a lifetime worth of more nights like that with Marco than a lifetime of wild nights with men whose names I didn't even know. Even if it meant hopping around from hotel to hotel with him, or giving up stripping to be in the model world forever, I was alright with that. Happy, even. I mean, damn, it's not like it's a bad gig, right? And if I keep this job up - if Marco _wants_ me to keep this job up - I won't have to depend on him to spoil me. No that _that_ was a bad gig either, but not one I can continue with  clear conscience.

            I actually wonder if Marco thinks I'm going to quit modeling for him once we get back to Los Angeles. I think he's expecting me to cut and run. I mean, as far as the job is concerned. But if he ends up offering the job to me full time...how could I _not_ take it?

            I admit, I was kind of taken aback when Marco sprung the model thing on me. Or rather, sprung it on Sasha and Connie. But that's only because I was sure I was going to make a fool of myself. Clearly, it all worked out. And now that I know how to do it, why would I refuse?

            Cheap stripper or high-class model? I don't think the decision would be too hard for anybody.

            The biggest drawback, maybe, is being in the spotlight all the time, but hell, if I get to look _this_ good for my job, I'm not complaining.

            As far as our relationship goes, I mean, things have changed, of course. Our relationship obviously isn't the same as it was when we met at Skitzo, or even when we first arrived in New York. If we were still pretend-dating and I was still _just_ a hired escort, I'm sure we'd just go our separate ways back in California with three grand in my back pocket. But even me just becoming a model changed the dynamic of things. _And_ we're in a legitimate relationship now.

            Whether or not Marco offers the job to me full time when we go back home, we're still going to be dating, and things are still going to be a little different.

            Who knows? Maybe he'll ask me to move in with him. It might be a long shot, but I will happily trade in fucking Frosted Flakes for dinner in exchange for Thomas the Butler.

            After about twenty minutes of mostly mindless contemplation whilst studying the freckles on Marco's sleeping face, he started to stir. I hadn't gotten up simply because we were too tangled up in each other and any movement of mine would have woken him.

            "Morning," I mumbled.

            "Mm-mornin'," he replied with a yawn. "Wh'time 's it?"

            "Almost 9:30." Without the alarm signaling us to get to another show or rehearsal, we were able to kind of sleep in for the first time that week.

            "When are you meeting the interns?" Marco asked, stretching himself out. Regardless of how sweet our position had been, my foot and arm had been asleep when I woke up, and I was sure that he had a similar tingling situation going on.

            "11. But they're picking me up," I said, fumbling with my phone on the nightstand to confirm what I had read half asleep. "Yeah, 11. We're having _brunch_."

            Brunch. I'm having brunch. I've never had brunch. I don't even think I knew what brunch was before this week, other than something your mother went to on Sundays after church.

            "Better get ready then," Marco said, prodding me with a foot under the covers. "We can have our final coffee in this hotel before you leave."

            I leaned over and kissed him. It somehow felt like we had been in that hotel forever, and not just a week. I kind of didn't want to leave. I wanted to spend years in this hotel, in New York, with our morning coffee and our little shower and the making love with the fireplace crackling, or having occasional rough sex after a long day in front of cameras. I had gotten comfortable, finally.

            Getting comfortable is dangerous for me, because every time I get comfortable, change starts to happen. And change scares me.

            I'm scared to see what's going to happen next.

            I'm scared to be in a relationship.

            I'm scared to go back to Los Angeles.

            

* * *

 

            Dressed in what I felt was casual Hugo Boss, I made my way down to the street to meet Eren and Armin. I almost felt bad leaving Marco all alone, but he assured me that he was going to meet Reiner and Bert for lunch so they could spend time together for an afternoon that wasn't completely centered around fashion. Still, I had some idea as to what their conversations would center around.

            Armin and Eren were picking me up in a standard taxi. For a moment, I felt like I was seriously downgrading after a week of moving around in limousines and first-class. In all honesty, though, it was really just reverting back to what I was most familiar with. I mean, damn, the taxi in the middle of New York traffic was still a hell of a lot more comfortable than standing up on the Metro in the middle of rush hour.

            "Hey, guys," I greeted, ducking into the back seat.

            "Morning, Jean," Armin greeted, and Eren raised a hand. It actually felt really nice to not have cameras or modeling coaches focused on me. Even as much as I love being around Marco, I was technically working every time we stepped out in public together. Being casual was something I had almost forgotten. At least, as casual as you can be lounging around in Hugo Boss with the interns of Levi and Erwin Smith. Still, I guess compared to what I _have_ been doing, that's fairly fucking casual.

            "You're sister decided not to join us, then?" I teased Eren.

            "Ha, as if. She's got her own agenda."

            "I'm shocked that she was able to resisted my presence," I flaunted, a hand to my chest. Eren rolled his eyes and Armin laughed at me.

            "Uh, here is fine, thanks," the blonde alerted the driver, who nodded and pulled up the curb when he was able.

            "Want me to wait?"

            "No, I think we'll be a while. Thank you, though." They paid the cab fair and we headed out.

            We had ended up at some Manhattan Bistro that was, according to my friends, pretty fantastic and reasonably priced. Of course, _reasonably priced_ in this society could mean fucking anything, so I took it with a grain of salt - especially after learning that they knew the place from tagging along with their bosses. It looked pretty good, though, and all the cash in my wallet had come from Marco anyway, so it wasn't really like I was out anything.

            More or less, the place was like a fancier and better tasting, non-chain version of Panera Bread, and I ended up with a soufflé, a cup of French Onion soup, and baguette slice for about twenty bucks.

            We found a table outside to eat at and I felt somehow in touch with whatever distant French relations I might have. We lacked an Eiffel Tower and a European atmosphere, but soft French music played from an overhead speaker and I felt  like this was as good as any brunch I was ever going to have in my  lifetime.

            We chatted casually about the shows and they both complimented me again on my own performance, still thinking that I was merely new to the catwalk scene rather than the entire industry. For an instant, I actually considered telling them the truth about the depths I had come from, but decided against it at the last moment. My pride wanted me to do it, simply so I could get credit from at least one person other than Marco who knew my last occupation. What wisdom I had told me it was a terrible idea. It was one thing getting myself in trouble and earning a bad reputation. I mean, my reputation can't get much worse than what I started with . When it gets down to it, a stripper and an escort are on pretty level playing fields. I didn't want to do anything to damage Marco's reputation though, and one word from me about who I really was turned _him_ into an instant liar.

            We were able to joke around as well, which was a welcome change of pace. Not that I hadn't been laughing a lot recently, because I felt like I had been, but because casual joking around food made me feel like I had real friends now - friends that weren't bosses or co-workers. Or boyfriends. If I learned anything from my week in New York, it's how lonely I had been. I had had no stable love life and no friends outside the strip club, and yes, I do realize how goddamn lame I sound.

            This was getting comfortable as well. Unfortunately for me, Eren and Armin didn't live in Los Angeles, like Marco. As far as I knew, they were stationed in New York, along with Mikasa, unless work sent them travelling. Going back to Los Angeles meant saying goodbye to them, too.

            And then, like he had read my mind, Armin took a sip of tea before asking me what I had been asking myself all morning.

            "So, are you ready to go back home?"

            By that point, how was I supposed to keep it in? I started spilling out just about everything that had shot through my mind since waking up staring at Marco's face that morning.

            "So you don't like change, basically?" Eren concluded after I had pretty much let everything out. He shrugged like it was no big deal.

            "I mean, I guess?" I replied. I _didn't_ like change, but it was _more_ than that. A lot of people don't like change. Change causes anxiety in a lot of people.

            "You don't like change, but you're afraid of commitment," Armin determined.

            That was it. Bingo.

            But I wasn't going to say it.

            Luckily, I didn't have to. Blondie started analyzing me like we were in an office and I was lying on a couch. I'm not sure what role Eren played in the scene rather than being a tea sipping, eye rolling observer. At the same time, though, he did seem pretty interested and impressed with Armin's shockingly accurate analysis. I decided to place him as the cynical, shadowing psychology student.

            "I mean, you've gotten comfortable where you're at, of course, but you want it to stay just like this. You've found a happy medium, and even though it _is_ just a medium, you don't want it to go any further, because then it has a chance to end or fall apart. Even though there's an equal chance that everything will end up even _better_."

            "That's...kind of exactly it. Wow," I said. I mean, he hit it right on the head, even though I hadn't been able to connect those dots myself and put labels on them. I had discovered in just the past few days that this was how Armin's mind worked, and his entry in Marco's binder kept making more and more sense to me. Of _course_ Erwin Smith used his ideas. He would be an idiot not to do so.

            "Can I ask...something a little more personal, then?" Armin asked. I shrugged. I didn't see why he shouldn't be able to. He was doing a pretty good job so far.

            "What were your relationships like...before Marco? Because, I mean, I think you guys have a good thing going, and you both look really happy. I know for a fact I haven't seen Marco smile for real like that in God knows how long. But if you have commitment issues, even with a deal like that...I mean, is it always like this?"

            I shook my head. Of course it's not always like this. It's _never_ like this. And by that, I don't mean it never reaches this point and levels off. I mean it's never even reached this point in the first place.

            "No," I was able to tell him honestly. "But that's only because I've never, like, _had_ a real, honest, committed adult relationship in the first place. I was pressured into a high school girlfriend until I realized for sure after about two weeks that I wasn't into that. Other than that, I've had a lot of individual dates. _Sometimes_ second dates. And a lot of one-night-stands. And it's not like I _want_ that outcome, you know? It's just, that's how it usually works out, and that's what my partners usually expect out of me, and then they take off, and that's that. Is it ideal? Hell no. But it became a pattern, I guess. And sometimes the one-night-stands happen with a partner I've had before, and that's as solid of a relationship as I form."

            "I think the term for that is _fuck buddies_ ," Eren piped up.

            "Shut the fuck up."

            " _So_ ," Armin continued, "Marco is the first _real_ relationship you've had?"

            "I...I guess so?"

            That was actually kind of a crazy thought. Had I ever been called someone's boyfriend before? I guess I had _thought_ about it before, but it was never an official thing. I mean, completely disregarding the poor sixteen year old girl I had to let off easy Sophomore year.

            "So then, you found a perfect spot for yourself. You've got a job, _and_ a boyfriend. A _good_ boyfriend. I mean, he _is_ good, isn't he?"

            I nodded, of course he was.

            "Hey, you never told us how he was in bed," Eren piped up. Damn, he was contributing nuggets of gold to this conversation.

            "He's fantastic and he's hung. Now please, Armin, continue."

            " _Hey_ , hey, I wanna go back to that topic for a second!" Eren protested, but Armin smiled and pushed his hand away so that he could go on. Somehow I had a feeling we would be revisiting that, however.

            "So you've got a great job and boyfriend, and you've made friends and acquaintances, and you've found yourself a nice niche, and you don't want to lose it."

            Considering the fact that Armin _didn't_ know about my true last occupation, his accuracy was astounding.

            "Exactly."

            "...Do you think you'd break it off and go back to your old lifestyle when you go back to LA? Is it that extreme of a fear?"

            "I can't say I haven't thought about of it," I admit. "Of course, I don't want to lose Marco after this. I don't want to lose any of this. But what if it just...isn't the same when we go back? What if...I don't know. What if all of the romance of it is just because we're in New York? What if he just treats me like...another fling when we get back home? Wouldn't it be better to just break it off and let this all be a happy memory?"

            Armin started to open his mouth to cut me off and talk me though it, but Eren beat him to it.

            "Okay, stop, just... _stop._ Too many fucking _what if's_. What if this, what if that? What if a meteor hits and we all fucking die tomorrow, huh? What then? Then it won't matter and you won't have to worry about it. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo! We are in the goddamn _fashion_ industry. We don't have _time_ for what if. You just _do._ And it's pretty much always hit or miss, and if you miss, well, hey, you tried. But when you _hit_ , it's fucking brilliant, and you can't decide not to go up to bat at all if you're afraid you're not going to get a hit. Shit, Jean, I assumed you had a little more passion in you than that. From the sound of it, you've had a lot of misses, and _this_ is your hit. Not Fashion Week, or us, or any of that shit, but Marco. Marco is your hit. And I mean, he brought you to all this in the first place, didn't he? I think he'd do it again, don't you? If you break this off, I can just tell you right now that you're never going to get another chance like this again. Like Heidi Klum says, one day you're in and the next day you're out, so don't fucking miss your chance to be _in_ , because _this_ is that chance. What if you break if off with Marco and you never meet anyone like him again? I think _that's_ the _what if_  you _really_ need to think about, because I think it's the most probable. When I met you, I didn't take you for someone who was afraid. I mean, maybe you don't like change, whatever. Maybe commitment intimidates you, but damn, it's a life changing thing. It _should_ intimidate you. If it _doesn't_ scare you a little bit...it's not right."

            Armin shrugged and nodded. "He's right."

            I've had never met a person I've wanted to punch, hug, and punch again in such quick succession until I met Eren Jaeger, but...Armin was right, and _he_ was right. I was scared, but...if I _wasn't_ scared, I didn't feel strongly enough. I wasn't thinking about what if's when I kissed Marco for the first time, and that turned out pretty well.

            "If you want my last two cents," Armin added, "this is the first real relationship Marco's been in...in a long while. Even if you count his fabricated tabloid relationship with Mikasa. I'd be willing to bet that he feels a little scared about going back home, too. Just...talk to him about it, yeah?"

            "Yeah."

            After that, we ordered another round of tea, and inevitably ended up back at the topic of Marco's skill in the bedroom.

           

* * *

 

            It took the entire ride back to the hotel for me to build up the courage to even tell Marco that I wanted to discuss _the matter of us_ again, and I cannot believe I was even going to be discussing something like that for the second time in a week.

            However, when I turned the handle on our door, I was completely prepared to just right into the conversation.

            Marco, apparently, was not.

            His head shot straight up at me with a pained look on his face, as though my opening the door had triggered a bullet to be shot straight through his heart.

            "A-are you alright, Marco?" I asked. Something was...not right. At all. He was holding his phone, which was lit up, and I was willing to bet that I wasn't going to like what was on the screen. He, obviously, did not. "H-how was your visit with Bert and Reiner?"

            "Interesting," was Marco's only response. He tossed the phone at me, and it was by reflex alone that I managed to catch it, fumbling with it softly. I looked at the screen.

            There was a photo of myself, backstage at Marco's show. My hand was on another model's shoulder as we tried to listen to Marco introducing the show on the catwalk.

            "Scroll through them. There are five."

            " _Oh fuck_ ," I muttered to myself, doing so. My hand on a model's shoulder, to me whispering to another, to me smiling at another, and then my hand on _that_ one's shoulder.

            Did it mean anything? No.

            Did it look bad? Yes.

            Did Marco take these pictures? No.

            "Jean, after the whole issue with the interns, I decided to trust you. Especially since we weren't _actually_ dating yet, _and_ since you said it was to make me jealous. But you didn't seem to stop. And now this...I don't know what this means. I don't know what to make of this, but Reiner and Bert took these, and if _they_ see something, too, then I know it's not just me."

            "Reiner and Bertholdt took these? Son of a _bitch_. It's _nothing!_ "

            The problem was, it didn't _look_ like nothing. My whole life, I've been paid to get close and friendly with men. I had no idea I had turned it this much into a habit. Or that this was what it looked like. And lo and behold, my mentors betrayed me. Not that I was doing anything _wrong_.

            Intentionally at least.

            "Look, Jean, it's one thing if this is just an issue between us. It could be worked out. But there are a lot more people involved. Reiner took these with his phone, but he's not the only one with a camera. You had cameras all over you guys back stage, and if you don't think this shit is going to end up in a tabloid somewhere, then you've got another think coming."

            I ran my hands up and across my face and through my hair.

            Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

            "I...God _damn_. Marco, I swear to _God_ , this is nothing, I can explain it all-"

            "I don't want to hear that, Jean! This...this is fucked up! It's all fucked up, okay? What do you think they're going to say about us?"

            "What does it _matter?_ Didn't you just tell me that no one believes that shit? What about the articles on you and Mikasa? It's all a big joke."

            "Because we all _know_ Mikasa. We all know _me_. No one knows _you_. After all, it was your own mentors who ratted you out. Mikasa's a designer. I'm a designer. You're just my employee, and-"

            "Just your employee, huh?"

            "No, that's not what I meant-"

            "Right, _it's not what it sounds like_ , right?"

            " _Jean,_ no, you don't fucking understand!"

            "Right, because I'm _just your employee_ , and all that's between us is a paycheck. Of course I wouldn't understand a _relationship_ or _feelings_."

            " _Jean!_ "

            "I'm going for a walk," I said. "I'll be back in about an hour to pack up."

            I stepped out and shut the suit door behind me.

            _Fuck._

            Well. I guess the option of breaking it off before going back to LA never left the table. It's just, now it was going to leave a sour taste in my mouth.

            What if you fuck everything up before you get on the plane back home, Jean? Huh? What then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahaahhhhhhhhahahahahaahah 
> 
> sorry.
> 
> One more chapter and then an epilogue, if all goes according to plan! Thanks for sticking around! I plan on releasing a Haute fanmix with chapter 10 as well.
> 
> My Main Blog: [X](https://www.irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> I also run the Mikasa Like a Drum RP blog: [X](https://www.askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


	10. Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooo
> 
> Last chapter before the epilogue ;w; it's bittersweet
> 
> JUST SO YOU ALL KNOW, I've made an official Haute playlist/soundtrack which you can find [HERE](http://8tracks.com/irlmagicalgirl/haute). It features most of the songs that come at the beginning of chapters, songs in the fic itself, and other songs that inspired me. I hope you like it, and enjoy chapter 10!
> 
> Also, just fun news; Since last update, I have become the admin of the askladmarco account, so I run that now along with askladmikasa. Since it's changed ownership, it's had to lose it's 1,000 or so followers and now has just over 100 so if you could check that out, links will be in the end notes!

_Some things we don't talk about_  
 _Rather do without_  
 _And just hold the smile_  
 _Falling in and out of love_  
 _Ashamed and proud of_  
 _Together all the while..._  
 _Don't let me go._  
\- The Fray, Never Say Never

* * *

 

            The second the door slammed, I feel backwards onto the hotel bed.

            " _Shit_."

            I think that was probably absolutely the worst way to handle things. Like...how could I have done that any worse? Why, why, _why_ did I have to do something like this?

            Oh. Right. Because this is how I always do things. Sorry, one week is too long for you to be in a good relationship, stop that right now Marco Bodt, it's time for you to screw it up.

            I was - I _am_ \- you know, _upset_. But at Jean? I mean, hardly. Do I believe that he was purposely and maliciously flirting around? Okay, well purposely _maybe_ , but not to hurt me. And thinking back on it, he _probably_ didn't even know that that's what he was doing. I mean, he's friends with the interns, and as much as it got to me, I know his messing around with them was...well, _just_ messing around.

            And the pictures I got from Reiner and Bert...to a strangers eyes, or paparazzo's eyes, or just eyes that are looking too fast, yeah, it looks like something's going on. But come on, even I know that a picture taken at a time it's not supposed to can make a lot of nothing look like a lot of something. Hell, a picture of Heidi Klum running at the wrong angle could make her look fat. Shit's fucked.

             And Jean was right. Didn't I _just_ tell him about the tabloids getting everything wrong in the "me and Mikasa" story?

            That's...that's not what I'm upset about.

            But I _am_ upset.       

            And I used that as a quick fuel to blow up at Jean and push him out.

            Because that's what I do.

            And it's not like I hate commitment or don't believe in it or anything. I don't even know if I'm _scared_ of commitment, because I've  been so open to the idea, honestly. But I panicked. And our last night together had been _so. Fucking. Perfect._

I pulled out my phone and held it over my head as I remained lying on the bed. Since I didn't have much else to do before packing and flying out, I figured there was no harm. Plus, there was no point in running after Jean anyway. It seemed smartest to let him think things over and cool off, and he would have to return to the room before flying back home again anyway.

            I absent-mindedly scrolled through Twitter which was mostly filled with snapshots and recaps of Fashion Week, but I was in too much of a mood to favorite any of them (although I _did_ retweet Ymir's).

            And then I scrolled by an overly excited tweet. Perez Hilton. Of course. Like, is there any way _not_ to notice his tweets? They're always bright and it feels like they kind of scream at you, really. And as usual, his comment was just stupidly vague enough that I felt the strong impulse to click and read what the hell a _Fashion Faux-Pas FIASCO!!!!_ was, because I can tell you now that it wasn't going to have anything to do with actual clothing.

            "Oh, God damn it."

            I was right. Nothing clothing related. Of course. Right there at the top, drawn all over with whatever obnoxious paint program Perez uses, were the pictures Reiner and Bert showed me. The exact ones on my phone, for sure. And since I obviously did not supply them, they must have.

            Not gunna lie, that stung a bit. They _had_ to know that I would see. Maybe they thought they were doing me a favor, and giving me more publicity. Maybe they just needed the extra cash, which I couldn't really imagine. Still, I was overall shocked by the fact that they would betray me. Never would have thought. Not that they did it to betray me, because that most likely wasn't the intention, but still.

            In a way, I was glad of it. I had something to focus my negative emotions on other than Jean. It felt healthier. I just...I _knew_ that I wasn't really upset with him, but then my word vomit comes out when I start to panic, and why, _why_ is Perez Hilton posting about this? Doesn't he have some girl's weight to comment on, I mean, really.

            Not that that's good either, but damn, it must be a slow news day.

            I couldn't help but wonder about what Jean was doing. Just blowing off steam I would think, but I couldn't imagine why he would even want to come back. I mean, he was going to have to, but I wasn't expecting him to anytime soon. And he sure as hell wasn't going to call Bert or Reiner. Maybe he would go back and rant to the interns. I placed my bets on that one, even though they had just parted.

            I ran my fingers through my hair and ruffled it, dialing the number for Reiner's phone.

            Was this a wise decision, considering my current attitude towards them?

            Eh, probably not. But since when am I one to think confrontations and such through? I'm on a roll here, can't stop now.

            I huffed out a long sigh waiting for Reiner to pick up. It didn't take long at all, I mean, I had _just_ been with him. Unfortunately for me, that meant that I didn't have much of a chance to plan out my epic rant. I was destined for more panicky word vomit most likely, and said the first thing that came to mind when I heard Reiner pick up, before he could even greet me.

            "Jean stormed out."

            Oh. Huh. Wow. That was actually not a completely terrible choice of a first line. Go me. Way to keep the priorities and anger in order.

            "...What?"

            "Jean, Jean, he, I don't know, he came back and we argued over the pictures and I said some dumb shit and he just stormed out of the room."

            "So he's upset with _you_?"

            "Well, yeah! I said some kind of messed up stuff...I told him he was just an employee, which he obviously _isn't_ , but it kind of came off...wrong."

            "...What do you mean _just an employee_? How does that change anything in the pictures? We're just employees. Like, wouldn't the pictures send the same message even if he wasn't just your employee?"

            Shit. I forgot the part about where Reiner, and everyone else, don't know about how Jean's first job with me wasn't modeling. Oops.

            "I just...I don't know, tabloids and the public don't know him as much. He's, you know, new. I can't imagine that anyone would know him as anything other than _Marco's New Guy_ , you know? They're not going to blow it off because like, obviously my relationship with Mikasa is not real, because everyone knows us and our sexualities, but there's no reason to question anything said about me and Jean right now."

            "...Right."

            "Right!"

            "Seems like he's just using that as an excuse to storm out and not be held accountable for his actions."

            "Yeah, that's the other thing I was going to talk about," I trailed off, twirling a strand of hair that was getting long. I needed a haircut. "I don't think he actually...you know, _did_ anything."

            "Man...Marco, you know Bert and I are just looking out for you, right? We don't want you to keep getting hurt and getting into these relationships that just fade into nothing."

            I rubbed at my neck. "Yeah...yeah, I know. And I do appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But...man, guys, this was _good_. This is the best relationship I've been in...ever. I don't _have_ relationships. And neither does Jean. We're just getting used to each other. It's not even like we've been together for that long."

            I wasn't about to tell anyone that it was a much shorter relationship than they thought it was, but still, three days is already the longest real relationship I've had since high school. Does high school even count?"

            "Yeah...yeah, that's true," Reiner started. The guilt was rising in his voice.

            "I think it was good that I confronted Jean about this. Even if I don't think he did anything wrong _really_ , because let's face it, I have paranoia problems out the ass, it's good that he understands that what used to be mundane communications to him are now scrutinized by everyone and can end up somewhere like, oh, I don't know, Perez Hilton's website?"

            "Oh, fuck."

            "Yeah, you wanna tell me more about that?"

            "Um. Give me a sec."

            I waited, drumming my fingers against my leg. They were going to be remorseful, I knew they would be, and I also knew that they wouldn't do this to really spite Jean or I...but I needed to be stern with them.

            "Okay, we're back. Bert's here. We're on speaker."

            "Hello, Bertholdt."

            "H-Hey, Marco."

            "Would you care to explain why the pictures that you two took are plastered on Perez Hilton's website with comments about how my models are man-whores and I can't hold down a proper relationship before it's even debuted?"

            "Oh my God," Bert mumbled. "L-look, Marco, we were hired, okay?"

            "You were hired by _Perez Hilton_?"

            "Unbelievable, right?" Reiner said.  "He was lingering around on Monday and found us and recognized us, I guessed, and asked if we could take pictures on the inside that he might be able to use. We took pictures of _everything_ , and he was willing to pay for them all, even if he didn't use them. We expected him to use the ones of, you know, actual _fashion_ , and...fuck."

            "We didn't think he'd use _those_ out of everything we gave him," Bert continued. "Like...Marco, we gave him _so_ many. We just figured that if we had some with backstage stuff, he'd be more willing to take the lot."

            "We hadn't even seen them uploaded before you called," Reiner offered.

            I sighed deeply. Somehow that calmed me, but only slightly. I still felt betrayed. Even if they _hadn't_ given the pictures to Perez, I probably still would have ended up upset with them. It was nice at first, I guess, just because I know they were trying to warn me, but after the phone call, it just really sounded like they were taking pictures of _everything_ and it was just pure coincidence that they found one that looked slightly compromising.

            "Do you...do you guys really want me to get rid of Jean that bad that you felt the need to show me pictures that just happened by pure coincidence."

            They went silent on the other end, and for a minute, I thought that maybe we had gotten disconnected. I could hardly even hear them breathe.

            "W-we _do_ like Jean," Bertholdt finally said. "Like, really. He's cool, and funny...,"

            "But we don't know if he's right for _you_ ,"  Reiner finished. I could almost hear Bert nodding his agreement the way he often did when Reiner finished his sentences.

            "What would you two know about who is and isn't right for me?" I asked at a near whisper. More silence. _Now_ I was hurt. They were trying to be good friends, but they had just confessed to trying to sabotage my relationship - a relationship that took off on strange and rocky terms as it was. So were they good friends for trying to mess this up for my sake? Or shitty friends for trying to sabotage the best thing that's happened to me in recent memory without my knowledge or consent? My mind decided to pick the latter for the time being. "I mean, I haven't even been able to figure out who's right or wrong for me. But I know for sure all those guys that left after a night weren't right, and Jean made me really, really happy."

            "...We're sorry, Marco," Bertholdt offered weakly.

            "...Yeah." I felt kind of bad at first just rolling off an apology like that, but for something like this, I felt that I had a right to be angry with them for a little while.

            "Are we fired?" Reiner asked. I laughed.

            "Oh my God, no, you dumbie. I'm just...mad at you for now. And I need to find Jean. Make sure I didn't completely fuck this up royally. We still have a long flight together, and if I can make things good before we have to sit in silence together, that would be ideal."

            "If it would help, we can ask around for him?" Bert offered.

            "Yeah...yeah, that would be great, thanks," I replied. Somehow I thought that if I texted either of the interns, they wouldn't give up Jean's position to me. Awkwardly loyal like that.

            "Just...text me if you find him," I said.

            "Least we can do," Reiner said guiltily. "Talk in a bit."

            I hung up before saying my own goodbye and started packing with a lot less excitement than I had when I was preparing to come to New York originally. My fingers were slow and sad, and I couldn't even pinpoint one specific reason. It was a combination of Jean having left angrily, and Reiner and Bert having betrayed my trust, and being my generally paranoid self, and Fashion Week being over, and my personal life all over Perez Hilton's trashy blog, and my own stupidity and word vomit...especially those last two.

            It wasn't until I had finished packing most of my personal clothes that my phone buzzed with a text.

            **From: Reiner  
            jean just finished meeting w/ interns - hes headed back to your room now.**

I tapped out my quick thanks, and then send a smile emoji in a separate text, just so I sounded less harsh. Even if I _was_ mad, I didn't want to gain a reputation like one of those monster designers that end up hated by their models. I mean, Reiner and Bert are my closest friends, and losing them would only be the beginning of losing anyone I'm close to. Being apart from all my friends for such long periods of time and travelling so much is lonely enough as it is.

            I couldn't bring myself to keep packing much more. At that point, it just turned into a waiting game, sitting on the bed and anticipating Jean walking in the door again. This was already the second time I was doing this - waiting for Jean to come back from being with Eren and Armin, phone in hand, anxiously needing to discuss something. Hopefully, this time would be better.

            It didn't take more than a few minutes for him to come in. My heart rate picked up speed when I heard his card key slide in the slot outside the door.

            He came in with his head slightly bowed, but his eyes were raised to mine, like a puppy scorned.

            "Jean-"

            "Marco-"

            "Um, you first," I insisted. I thought, since I knew the full story, it would be best for him to voice all of his concerns in one shot.

            "I...I'm sorry, Marco."

            " _You're_ sorry?"

            "Let me finish, man, damn, I've been thinking of this stuff all day."

            "Ah! Um, yeah, right, okay, go ahead."

            "Yeah, so...," He ran hands through his hair, licked at his lip ring (you're forgiven, Jean, for anything you want to apologize for), and messed up his hair again. He went through about every one of his nervous habits before starting up again. "So, I know I've been kind of...promiscuous? Is that even the appropriate word? I don't even fucking know, I never hear that word outside of that old Nelly Fertado song...I mean, anyway, I know I've been kind of, you know, _familiar_ and flirty with some of the other guys I've met, but seriously, it means _nothing_. To be honest, I hardly even realize I do it. It's just that, I do that for work, all night and day, and that kind of behavior is just how I know how to get guys - people - to like me. I have to talk like that to impress them, to get their attention...so even though I have this _new_ job...it's hard to break out of that. Honestly, I'm still learning how to function around guys in a normal setting, let alone how to do it while in a...committed relationship."

            I sighed relief. "I...I know, Jean. I just needed some time to think about that stuff."

            "And Marco, those backstage pictures? Literally _nothing_. I take full responsibility for my actions with the interns. Both when I was trying to make you jealous and otherwise. That's just how I've always been with friends, and I know I have to learn to tone it down, I totally understand that. But I didn't even get the chance to explain the backstage photos. I hardly even spoke to the other models, and we didn't even talk about anything that wasn't related to the show. It's just, it was loud back there and I kind of had to lean into them, and then later I heard that Reiner and Bert had told them I was up for flirting, and they took the pictures, and I don't really understand why that happened."

            "...They _told_ the models you were up for it?"   

            "Y-yeah, actually. I never got the chance to say that before I...you know, stormed out. Sorry about that, too."

            I shrugged, making a mental note to yell at Reiner and Bert once more. "Your storming out was my fault any way. I shouldn't have said that you were just an employee."

            "Yeah, but I know exactly what you meant. I was just...frustrated, I guess, because I couldn't say anything, but _fuck_ , it all turned out to be true, and now it's on fucking Perez Hilton's website, and bam, reputation's fucked up."

            "Ah, you saw it on there, then?"

            "...Yeah. Damn, I'm so fucking sorry, Marco. I just ran away from the whole issue when we could have avoided this conflict from the beginning. And that's what I was originally going to tell you when I came home from brunch. Normally, this, as in this relationship and job and lifestyle, would be exactly the kind of thing I would run away from. Because it's so perfect, but it's the opposite of what I'm used to and, I don't know, it's all kind of unfamiliar and uncomfortable...but I wanted to tell you that I don't _want_ to run away. I want you, Marco. You're worth sticking around. You're worth having to learn to act differently around people, and you're worth the travelling, and learning to walk in heels, and you're worth sucking up my pride and coming to apologize, because I can tell you right now, I've never done anything like this in my life."

            "I - wow."

            His eyebrows shot up and his familiar Jean attitude returned to his face.

            "Wow? That's all you have to say?"

            "Just...give me a moment."

            I plopped back onto the bed and he used the opportunity to come into the opening of the room more; he had never really inched his way in from the doorway.

            "Is this...too much?" Jean asked.

            It wasn't. It was...It was exactly what I needed to hear, actually, because damn, regardless of out extremely different backgrounds, Jean and I were nearly the same.

            Not that I went flirting with interns and stripping.

            See, this is why I needed a moment to see down. All that stuff would have rambled out had I opened my mouth right away.

            "N-no, no, you're fine."

            "Just fine? Marco, what are you holding back? Did you..did you actually, you know...like me? Or was this all just convenient?"

            "What?! What, no, of course I like you. In fact, I might...you know...feel even stronger than that. It's just-"

            "Just what?!"           

            _Okay_ , he was getting exasperated. Oops. I, like, _really_ have to work on when I do and don't saying things.

            "I _do_ like you. I more than like you. I genuinely care about you and I want to be with you. _So_ much. You're the best relationship I've had in so long. Ever, maybe, and it's only been a week. But you don't realize how much like you I am, Jean. I'm paranoid...about everything, really. I get anxious easily. And that's not your fault. None of that has to do with you. It's how I've always been, and when you add that to not having been in a decent relationship in a while, or any at all for that matter, it scares me."

            Jean's eyes narrowed, but in a way that was trying to understand me. And I think  he was. He came and sat next to me on the bed which I considered to be a good thing. He wasn't backing away from me and heading towards the door at least.

            "But...I think it's okay," I continued. His features softened. "I think the fact that it scares me is...a good thing. It means I care. I'm scared of the future, because being with you means it's going to be different. I'm scared of _losing_ you, which is where a lot of my paranoia picks up. I'm scared of the press. But being scared means things are _happening_. I want things to happen. I want things to happen _with you_ , and I want to be scared _with you_. I just...I want to be with you, Jean."

            He took my hands in his and stared at me. Just stared at me. Besides our perfect night together, he had never really felt more human to me. We had just completely exposed ourselves to each other emotionally, and it matched the time we did it physically.

            "I know what you mean," he said finally, at a near whisper. "I know that fear. But being apart from you in that short time that I was...I realized I was a hell of a lot more lonely and scared apart from you than with you. I remembered what it was like before I met you, which seems so long ago now, and I don't want to go back to that."

            I smiled at him, trying not to be a loser with tears in my eyes, but I couldn't do it. I understood what he meant far too well, and I don't think I've ever met anyone who's been able to pick up on and share my emotions as easily as he was able to.

            "So, uh...does this mean we're still boyfriends?"

            His eyes darted around my face before he smirked and pushed me lightly.

            "Fuck you, yeah, of course we're still boyfriends!"

            I admit, I might have let out an inhuman noise. "Good! Fuck the media!"

            "Fuck the press!"

            "Fuck Perez Hilton!"

            "Fuck your models!"

            "Yeah! But...not really, right?"

            He cocked an eyebrow before I winked at him.

            "Don't push your luck, loser," he laughed at me. I couldn't do anything then, but wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. Not my employee, not my escort, not a stripper, and not even my model. This was just me kissing him, my boyfriend Jean, with the L.A. crass life and the neon tank top and the lip ring, who smirks at my expense and knows how I take my coffee and is scared just like I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhhh.
> 
> Okay, honestly, I had originally planned for this chapter to be hellllla long.
> 
> It was not. 
> 
> I had written my outline, but I did it forgetting this was a Marco POV chapter instead of a Jean one, and it fucked me all up, so I just went with what Marco was telling me *shrug* It felt short to me, but I don't know, I like it.
> 
> Don't worry, the epilogue will have more and it's gunna wrap stuff up and tie loose ends!
> 
> Thanks for reading guys!
> 
> [Haute Playlist](http://8tracks.com/irlmagicalgirl/haute)   
>  [Main Blog](http://irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)   
>  [AskladMarco](http://askladmarco.tumblr.com)   
>  [](http://askladmikasa.tumblr.com>AskladMikasa</a>)


	11. Epilogue: Bel Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeans POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the end.   
> Remember to check out the official Haute playlist and try listening while reading for added experience - the songs are in chronological order! [HERE](http://8tracks.com/irlmagicalgirl/haute)
> 
> Again, thank you all so so much for reading. I didn't expect for this to get any attention at all and this has been great fun.

_So I run like I'm mad to heaven's door  
I don't wanna be bad,  
I won't cheat you no more.  
  
Roses, Bel Air, take me there,   
I've been waiting to meet you.  
Palm trees in the light,  
I can sleep late at night  
Darling, I'm waiting to greet you,  
Come to me, baby._ __  
\- Bel Air, Lana Del Rey

* * *

 

            I felt the past few hours melt around us. They didn't disappear altogether, which I think Marco and I could both agree was a good thing. Our first "lover's spat" needed to be kept in our memories. So it just melted, and remained like candle wax around us while we kept burning like a little wick on fire.

            Wow, okay, that was really, like, gay as fuck.

            But no, seriously. We got good again, but we remembered what had just happened. I think, actually, that the little episode was imperative to our relationship. Marco and I had kind of...fallen together in a strange way. I was totally aware of that. Unorthodox relationship is kind of an understatement, but let's face it - I just stopped my job as a sex worker, so unorthodox is kind of my thing.

            The thing is, we didn't _know_ each other well. Personality, yeah. And we totally had chemistry. And, well, I at least I know our _bodies_ meshed well. But we needed to know that quirky relationship kind of stuff. Like, for example, if I had know how paranoid Marco was intrinsically, I might have been more careful.

            Although I _am_ a fucking idiot and should have been more careful regardless.

            But then again, that's something that Marco didn't know about _me_. Fucked up commitment issues and fucked up past relationships and, you know, just being...fucked up.

            But now we know. And we're learning I think, and it's good and it's healthy. Healthier. And sure as hell healthier than what we've both had in the past. Maybe to a couple who's been together for years, our fight was child's play. I mean, it was only a few hours, _if_ that. But every couple is different, and this was our big one, and this is how we grew and began to understand each other. That's just how it is. And it's good.

            We laid there for some time, almost as if we were rekindling our previous night. I smiled in spite of myself and the "cool" demeanor I had invented for myself while I was here. Marco had melted that with his flame as well.

            How long we stayed there, I'm not sure, just kind of reveling in each other. It felt like hours.

            Actually, it was probably just a minute or two.

            Mood killer, I suppose, but we did have a flight to catch.

            "Come on," Marco whispered to me. I could smell coffee on his skin with him this close. "Let's finish packing."

            We were out of the Ritz almost as soon as I felt like we had arrived there. With a slight twinge in my stomach, I felt that I was going to miss our dumb shower that we had eventually started to use together, and the dumb loveseat that I eventually started not to use at all, and the fireplace that only got lit for one single night.

            And the coffee maker. I was definitely going to miss the coffee maker.

            I was going to miss the domesticity of it. I guess I just still wasn't sure what was going to happen when we got back to L.A.  I just knew that if I never got to make Marco's plain as shit coffee for him ever again, I would be very upset.

            "You happy to be headed home?" Marco asked, his hand squeezing mine as our plane took off. I took notice of how the freckles on his knuckles stood out even as his skin turned whiter when he held my hand.

            I pressed my lips together and nodded.

            "I'm going to miss wrestling for blankets with you, though."

            He laughed. "No one ever said we had to stop wrestling over blankets, Jean."

            I turned to him, eyebrows raised. "You...mean it?"

            He looked at me in disbelief. "Well, _yeah_. What did you think was going to happen? You thought we were going back to how we were before we went to New York? I mean, even if you don't want to share a bed, you're totally welcome to sleep in the guest bed again..."

            "Oh! I mean...I just assumed...I mean, I didn't know..."

            "God, Jean, you can be difficult sometimes. I wasn't going to make you go back to your old gig! I mean, not if you don't want it. And if you live with me, it's going to be _so_ much more convenient to fit you for new clothes."

            I nearly choked on my complimentary water before kissing him full on, just as we were somewhere over Virginia.

* * *

 

**3 months later**

            Marco brushed the dust from my new coat's shoulders, adding and removing last minute pins before our first fashion show together in Los Angeles. Reiner and Bert were backstage as well, and fiddled with their ensembles. Upon seeing us both, they apologized profusely for all of the past trouble they had caused, but Marco begged them to stop. We both knew that the problem was behind us, but honestly, I think Marco just wanted Bert to stop sweating profusely all over his new designs.

            "You ready?"

            "Baby, I was born ready," I winked, shaking my hips jokingly.

            "You ever miss it?"

            "Miss what?"

            "You know, the stripping thing. Because if you ever have an itch to go back, I can set up a job for you at Suede," he smiled. I think he was a bit serious.

            "Nah, my stripping days are over. Except for, you know, private shows," I winked, and basked in how red it made him. "I do kinda miss that thing where you would take me to Rodeo and dress me, though."

            "You loser, you have the money to do that on your own now."

            "Yeah, I know," I whined, "but it defeats the fun of having a sugar daddy."

            "I am not-"

            "Marco."

            "Fine. I'm a sugar daddy. But that doesn't mean you can't afford your own shopping sprees now and then."

            I shrugged. "Gotta go. Kind of have a runway show and all. I have to model my freckled gay boyfriend's clothes. You know, because he thinks I'm hot and stuff."

            Marco laughed and squeezed my hand the way I liked. "I love you, Jean."

            I licked at my lip ring - aware of it this time - and replied.

            "I love you, too, Mr. Bodt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Well. That's it. 
> 
> A few last notes:  
> \- I do really want to revist this AU at some point. I want to talk more about Mikasa and the interns in this trio, maybe have a Reibert thing, a Eruri thing, maybe I'll talk about Ymir...Not sure! What do you guys want? I don't want to abandon Fashion AU forever!  
> \- I am the official NaNoWriMo coordinator for UCLA, so I'm going to be busy in November helping folks write novels, as well as focusing on my own (it'll will be my 4th, for those keeping score). In this time, I also plan on working on Blood & Water, which I'm going to start updating ASAP. If you guys want to check that out, I'd seriously appreciate it. Lots of YumiKuri, a bit of JeanMarco, vampires, witches, vampire hunters, and it's going to be a bit more dramatic and serious than this fic, so check it out if you like my writing?
> 
> Thank you all again so so much for all of your kudos, comments, and time. It's been fun!
> 
> [Haute Playlist](http://8tracks.com/irlmagicalgirl/haute)  
> [Main Blog](http://irlmagicalgirl.tumblr.com)  
> [AskladMarco](http://askladmarco.tumblr.com)  
> [AskladMikasa](http://askladmikasa.tumblr.com)


End file.
